


Darkness Surrounds

by Daydreaming_Scribe



Series: The Final Arc [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Sam, Angel Sam Winchester, Dark Sam, Dark Sam Winchester, Dean-Centric, F/M, Gen, Homophobia, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Overprotective Dean, POV Dean Winchester, POV Lucifer, POV Multiple, POV Sam Winchester, Pansexual Sam, Post-Season/Series 10, Post-Season/Series 10 AU, Post-Season/Series 10 Finale, Protective Dean, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Sam, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Sam-Centric, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Transphobia, Witch Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:17:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daydreaming_Scribe/pseuds/Daydreaming_Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4640322/chapters/10582416">A Soul Broken</a></p>
<p>The Darkness was closing in. And if it won, it would not be like the Apocalypse. People would not just die. Everything, in All of creation, would cease. The earth, the angels, Heaven, Hell.</p>
<p>Even the souls.</p>
<p>Sam had to stop it, and pray that Dean and Castiel wouldn't get in his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our Father

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this story will include pretty much any slightly important character in Supernatural. Important as in "they get more than an episode worth of mention". Even some one-episode characters get an appearance.
> 
> I know that the ending for the Darkness is probably already planned out, but this is what I think would be the best ending. Keep up with Season 11 and you might be able to tell me which one you think is better ;P

“You’re going to lose, Sam.” Jess chuckled.

Taking no notice of her, the hunter continued typing on his computer. Giving a huff of annoyance, the body of his former girlfriend dissolved in a puff of smoke (the kind Sam had come to associate with demons), reforming into his brother, complete with a leather jacket and a cocky smirk.

“Come on, Sammy.” He sneered. “You know you’re nothing without Dean. Just ask anyone: Ruby, Samuel….without me as your moral compass, you just leave a bag of bodies and end up torturing yourself till you go crazy.”

He wasn’t wrong about the last part: since the last time he saw Dean-the  _actual_  Dean- Sam had lost about twenty pounds, his skin turning a pale, sickening yellow. His eyes were lined underneath with bruised shadows, eyelids and lips purple and dark. Every breath he took was shallow, wheezed-out, lined with pain. Like he expected, the grace of Selaphiel hadn’t lasted long.

“Quit using my brother’s form.” Sam croaked, eyeing his computer screen. “It’s not going to make me break any more than using Jess, or Bobby, or Lucifer, or my parents has.” Dean shrugged, and shifted, changing quickly to a young woman with curly dark hair.

“Maybe we should pay your girlfriend a visit.” The Darkness mused. Sam’s jaw tightened.  It gave the same, smug, all-knowing smirk he’d associated with Amelia. “Oops. Sorry. She isn’t your girlfriend anymore, is she? She has her husband back now, and you’re out of the way. So, she’s gonna raise a baby that isn’t even yours, in the house you bought, with the dog you owned.” Sam’s face twitched, for an instant of a second. Amelia raised an eyebrow, flashing her teeth. “You didn’t know, did you?”

Sam ignored her, clicking the save button and removing the flash drive. Inserting another one, he waited for another minute, before clicking and dragging, and removing that one as well. The Darkness paused for a minute, before shifting in it’s form.

“You know, we can see inside that little head of yours.” The Darkness taunted, tapping the forehead of a much healthier Sam, from around a year ago. “Your big plan? Hop up on Grace, Demon Blood, and Souls, restore the mark, bind it to your own body, then somehow cast yourself to the furthest stretches of the universe?” The Darkness huffed. “It’s going to fail.” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“If my plan is going to fail, I wonder why the primordial omniscient being who it involves is trying to talk me out of it, instead of letting me fail.” The Darkness’ features did not change, did not betray anger or irritation.

“You’re more of a challenge at controlling than your brother.” The Darkness confessed. “We don’t want you harming yourself before we can get my pretty little tendrils around you.” Sam frowned, tilting back in his chair.

“Why would you want me as a vessel?” He inquired, cocking his head to one side. “You could do almost anything you want.” The fake Sam gave a shrug.

“So far, we have only been able to haunt the minds of several creations, driving them to do unspeakable things. We can only appear as an illusion, such as this.” The Darkness’ ‘hands’ ran from the top of it’s forehead to its hips. “This is antonymous with our original setting.” It said, gesturing broadly to the motel room around them. “Where there was darkness, now you have light. Where there was infinite nothingness, we find occupied by bothersome space and mass. That little upstart you call ‘God’ made this universe as a failsafe against our power.” The corners of fake Sam’s lips turned up. “A vessel will shield us from these petty splinters, let us regain enough power until we decide we are strong enough to leave.” Sam frowned.

“And then what?” The Darkness gave a smirk.

“Return this bothersome existence to what it was before.” It looked rather smug. “No Angels, no demons, no monsters, no humans. No Heaven, No Hell, No Purgatory. No God, No Death, no Souls. Just….Darkness.”

“Why not just take me, then?” Sam demanded. “If you’re powerful enough to destroy existence, why are you waiting to possess me?” The Darkness scowled.

“The ritual requires a binding. Something We cannot do without a corporeal body. It must be he who allows us in. We cannot possess you without consent.” Sam’s brow scrunched in confusion. It was a curiosity, how the angels and the Darkness, both predating humanity, needed consent, but creatures coming after humans, such as demons and ghosts and wraiths, could violate any body they pleased. The Darkness, evidently reading Sam’s thoughts, huffed. “Ironic, we know. The soul was your God’s pesky idea, as a safe-guard against us and his own creation, angels. Spirits and demons, even though the latter were originally made from me, don’t need to worry about getting permission from souls, because they are souls, or at least former ones.”

“Guess you’re not as powerful as you thought.” Sam grinned. The Darkness smirked.

“We _will_ get you, Samuel Winchester. You will try to trap us, and we will hold you down, and destroy the universe once we obtain the power we need from you.” The hunter raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed.

“I beat Lucifer, don’t see what makes you special.” It was a lie, of course. Lucifer was hard enough, and killing Bobby and Cass and almost killing Dean hadn’t allowed him to gain control. He knew he could cast Lucifer out in a second, but it was beyond essential that he trap him. The Darkness….

He knew it would be a whole new level of impossible.

Seeing Sam sink in defeat, the Darkness laughed, and was gone.

* * *

 “Dean, are you sure about this?” Castiel asked, eyes filled with worry. Dean held back a groan.

“ _Yes_ , Cass, for the thousandth time, I am ready to go in there and tear Hocus Pocus a new one.” Castiel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“If I recall correctly, there were three witches in that movie, not one.” The hunter gave a roll of his eyes.

“Thanks for sharing, Cass. Glad to know you’re at least useful in the Pop Culture department.” The angel’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve tried to find Sam, but I’ve told you, the Enochian carvings make him untraceable.” Dean gave a huff of frustration.

“Don’t you have angel radar? Why can’t you just track Sam through that?”

“Because Sam isn’t an angel, Dean, he has just been operating on the grace of one. It’s probably burnt out by now, anyways.” The angel explained tiredly. “Not to mention, Sam is a psychic _and_ a witch on top of using angel grace and the word of God. He’s probably using the combination of all four to conceal his location and suppress the flare he’s giving off.”

“Great, so, unless we get a witch to help, there’s no way of finding him before he does something stupid.” Dean snarled. And with that, he barged past Castiel into the Bunker’s holding cell.

“Listen up, bitch.” He growled, holding the knife tightly in his grip. “I know you have the book. I know where you keep it. I’ve got ten years of experience as the student of Hell’s Best torturer. And I’ve got an angel who will resurrect you every time you die. So, the way I see it, you’re gonna help me find my brother, and maybe, just maybe, I won’t give you up to Crowley as a personal chew toy. Your choice.”

The redhead, who was bleeding severely from several wounds, raised an eyebrow.

“Is that so?” She asked, her brogue thick and rough. “Cause, ‘way I see it, you’ve got no chance of tracking down your Giant without me.” A smirk played across her face. “So, you’ve got no bargain, _Druisear_.” The last word was forced out in a spit. There was a pause, before the witch’s jaw jerked sideways, courtesy of Dean’s fist.

“Throw all the Latin insults you want, bitch. I’m just getting started.” He challenged. Rowena’s eyes rolled in her head.

“It’s _Gaelic_ , you dull idiot. God, no wonder your brother left you. _Tha thu cho duaichnidh ri èarr àirde de a' coisich deas damh!_ ” Dean’s face tightened.

* * *

“GOD! _FUCK_!” Rowena screamed, arching into the knife deeply embedded in her shoulder. Eyes flaming, she turned to Dean and snarled. “ _Deoghail am fallus bhàrr duine mharbh siadha tiadhan!_ ” The older Winchester smirked, satisfied with himself.

“At least buy me a drink first, babe.” He cooed, chuckling to himself. The witch gave a growl, trying to lunge at him before crying out again in pain as she pushed against the knife. “Give up yet?”

“A mortal with a blade is nothing after endless witches and demons.” She growled. The evil smile on Dean’s face widened.

“Oh, sister.” The hunter laughed. “You’ve never been on the wrong end of a Winchester.”

* * *

 Sitting on his knees, in the same abandoned church where he could’ve ended it all, Sam vaguely wondered if he should even bother trying with what he was about to do. After all, he had been doing it for as long as he could remember. And the only times he _thought_ it had been successful, he just managed to fuck everything up again.

“Hey..” He called out awkwardly, folding his hands in front of him. “…..I know the angels are not going to hear this...” The hunter gave a huff, feeling the exhaustion sink into him. “…I just…” Water welled behind his eyes. “I know that I’m not worthy….” _Jess, pinned to the ceiling, face filled with terror, burning in the flames. Jake Talley’s long body, bleeding and lying prone, his eyes shining in wonder and confusion at Sam. Dean, getting torn to pieces in front of him, as he watched helplessly. The pure, exhilarating rush he got from Ruby’s blood. The vessels he killed for the blood, as he ignored the screaming and the shouting. The word, “Monster,” slipping out of the lips of the closest person in the world to him. His brother choking, almost to death, in his merciless, angry grip. Light filling the room of the chapel, Dean next to Sam, as Lucifer rose. The carnage, left by the Apocalypse and his soulless self. The endless suffering he endured in the Cage, by the hands of Lucifer and Michael and Adam. Abandoning Dean in Purgatory, thinking he was dead, and leaving Kevin with Crowley, and leaving hunting in general, like a coward, to go off and play ‘house’ with Amelia. Failing to complete the trials, just because Dean asked him to. Kevin’s screams ringing through his ears, as Gadreel filled the room with light, burning the Prophet’s eyes out. Telling Dean how he wasn’t sure he could be his brother. Telling him how he wouldn’t save him. The monster he became after Dean’s death, trying to find him. Lying behind his brother’s back to cure him. Charlie’s body, lying bloody in the cheap motel tub. The chaos, the mounting death tolls and accidents, caused by the Darkness, the one he released. Dean’s dirty glare, as he uttered the words ‘Just another one of your apocalyptic messes I have to clean up.’ The coldness of Cindy, Aaron, and Rosie, their unresponsiveness. The unspeakable things he’d done to gain this knowledge, and what he had to do to get out from under Castiel and Dean’s authoritarian control._ “…I _know_ that I’m not worthy.” Sam choked, bowing his head as tears slipped down his cheeks.  “But I made this mess. _I_ did. Everything..” But he stopped himself, because he didn’t need to tell an omniscient being what almost everyone knew.

It was all his fault.

“I have a plan.” He offered weakly, sniffling. “I don’t know if it will work, but I can’t do it without your help.” There was silence. Sam closed his eyes, trying to ignore the hoarseness of his voice and the sting in his eyes, and the _pain_ , _everywhere_. “ _Please_ …I _need_ to fix this.”

More silence, the wind whipping softly through the gaping holes in the wall originally holding glass windows.

“Sam.” His heart froze. Turning around, he saw a familiar, smiling face.

“ _Chuck_?!” He sputtered, blinking to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. The small, bearded man gave a grin.

“That’s a lesser-known name of mine, but yes.” Sam paused for a second. He fell back on his knees, his body following, the palms of his hands pressed hard against the floor, along with his nose. Sam didn’t get too close to touch the feet of the Almighty. He knew, of all people-all things, he corrected himself- he was the least worthy of touching the Creator.

“No, Sam.” Chuck said gently, reaching down to help Sam to his feet. The hunter was hesitant to place his unworthy hands on the All-Knowing, but he accepted the gesture. Evidently sensing Sam’s thoughts (well, duh, he was omniscient), Chuck laughed. “It’s funny, Dean would be more likely to punch my face than get on his knees before me.”

Sam said nothing. He couldn’t. What exactly do you say to God, anyways?

“I can help you with your plan, Sam.” Chuck assured him. “It will come at great cost. It always has. But it will work.”

* * *

_The Morningstar floated quietly in the Cage, sighing out of boredom._

_It had been eons since his vessel left the prison that he had put them all in. That meant there was really nothing left for him and his brother._

_Well, not exactly true. They could’ve played around a little with the substitute vessel Michael had used, his own vessel and his brother’s true vessel’s little bastard half-brother. The one who had so eager to torture Sam to save his own skin._

_But Who is Like God refused, saying that Adam (that was actually highly ironic) was the only one of the Winchesters who went along with their plan. According to Michael, it didn’t really even take any torturing or trickery. Just a promise that he and his mother would be kept safe, and placed in the same Heaven when this was over. Even after that fool Zachariah tortured him._

_And harming his brother would only be of use once out of the Cage, otherwise the angels would have left him in here._

_So, he spent his time like how he had during his first internment in the cage._

_In the far-off darkness, Lucifer became aware of a pinprick of light. Instantly, he felt elated. He remembered that same light, from endless millennia before he had been reinterred by his treacherous vessel in the Cage. It was what he had seen when he had been released._

_However, it was different this time. It was filled with a mercy and wonder that the Second Son hadn’t seen in a long time. Beside him, his brother gasped in awe._

_“Father.” Michael stated. “Finally.” The two archangels raced towards the pinprick, as it grew wider and wider, Michael carrying his Vessel’s body and (rather weak) soul in tow._

_Embracing the light, they readied to be filled with Grace from the Creator. Despite all he had done, Lucifer still loved his father, whether or not his father actually loved him back. They exited the Cage, ready to be free to roam the Earth……._

* * *

 Lucifer frowned. This wasn’t right. Looking down at his body (his body, that was never good), he blinked in surprise to see very familiar fingers.

He was in Nick’s body.

Reflecting inward, he was surprised to find that there was no soul left, but he supposed that had something to do with whoever brought him back. Oddly enough, this time around, the vessel didn’t feel wrong, like using Nick’s had. It was almost like using Sam. That perfect sense of Harmony and unity, that signified he was in the one who had been designed for him, following the bloodline that his father had intended.

Observing the room around him, he saw that wherever they were had a large, stone floor and a high vaulted ceiling. He turned to Michael, who was still in Adam Milligan’s body. His brother looked just as shocked as he felt. Neither had expected their return to Earth to be in a darkened cathedral.

In rings of holy fire.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t the two biggest egotistical assholes in the universe.” Head jerking towards the familiar voice, Lucifer could hardly believe his eyes as a severely emaciated Sam Winchester walk out of the darkened corner.

“What are you doing here, Abomination?” Michael snarled. The beaten-down hunter raised an eyebrow.

“I’m letting your sorry asses out of the Cage.” He answered, voice hoarse. “And I’d rather you get out of my brother, Michael. He might be a traitorous bastard, but he’s going to stay out of this.” Michael sneered.

“And what will you do about it, _Sam_?” The oldest Archangel spat out the name like a curse. A smirk appearing over his face, Sam extended a hand, making a crushing gesture. Lucifer felt himself blink in surprise as he saw Michael fall to the floor, groaning in agony. As it’s orifices filled with light, the body of Adam Milligan was lifted into the air, before being launched back out of the ring of holy fire. The shining light, which represented just a thousandth of Michael’s true form, was held in place by Sam’s viselike gesture, before a body began to appear around it.

Lucifer could hardly believe what was happening. Bone, blood, and flesh began to wrap themselves around his brother’s angelic form, tying him into a human form. Clothes appeared over that, and by the time Sam released Michael and let him fall to the floor, his body resembled that of a younger John Winchester. Gasping for breath, Michael rose to his feet, bearing his blade.

“What have you done to me, Abomination?!” Who is like God demanded, edging towards the fire surrounding him. Sam, who looked rather wiped out (was he bleeding?) shrugged.

“I told you to get out. So, then I made you.” Behind them, there was a groan, and they turned to see Adam Milligan rise to his feet. Sam’s face morphed into a rather malicious smile. “Hey, Adam. Back in the World again, I see.” The young blond man’s face was alight with fear.

“What the hell is this?” He demanded coldly. “What have you done with me?” Sam smiled.

“Saved your life. Though I don’t suppose you’d actually be grateful, given your track record.” The younger man scoffed.

“Sure, because you leaving me in the Cage for so many years is something to be grateful for.” Sam shrugged.

“Well, guess I wasn’t too eager to save you after what you’ve done to save your own skin. Plus, I knew you’d be safe. Michael wouldn’t lay a hand on you.”  Adam pulled a face.

“Well, you trapped me in the Cage in the first place. I just did what I had to do-”

“Yeah, to save your own ass.” Sam bit back. “You let Michael use you as a vessel, after Dean and I warned you, after we had to stop an angel from killing you. I saw myself that you weren’t tortured into doing it. You just did it to save your own ass. You never thought of anyone but yourself.”

“Hey!” Adam snarled. “I was doing it for my family.” Sam barked out a laugh.

“Man, you _are_ just like Dean. Delusional, self-righteous and willing to damn everyone else to hell just because you don’t want to be alone.” The younger brother gave an ugly look.

“Oh, what, I’m supposed to treat _you idiots_ like family?” He challenged. “Three of us, jumping in that _dinosaur_ you call a car, going down to Disney World?” Sam rolled his eyes.

“No. Don’t think I’d ever want such a selfish bastard as a brother.” He said. “But maybe you could think about someone other than yourself, for, I don’t know, five seconds? You knew the Apocalypse was going to destroy all life on Earth, and you were still going to go along with it.” The blond man scoffed.

“What’ s the world ever done to me? I pretty much was left alone by my mom, because she worked so much, and my ‘Dad’ was never involved in my life for my ‘protection’, and I never got past my undergrad because I was _fucking._ _Eaten_. Alive. Then, I got resurrected and tossed into hell. So, what am I to be grateful for?” He challenged. Sam gave a loud groan of frustration.

“My God.” The Winchester said. “Grow up! Life’s not really fair, Adam. Don’t know if it’s escaped your notice.” The younger brother’s eyes narrowed.

“What’d you know about it? You had a brother your whole life, and you never have had anything to worry about. How hard’s _your_ life actually been?” Morningstar actually shivered from the look on Sam’s face, so full of anger and rage and _hate_.

“You actually don’t deserve to know.” Sam said coldly. “Get out, before I change my mind about killing you.”

Adam didn’t need to be told twice. Turning back to the Archangels, Sam gave a sigh.

“Well, usually, I’d say it’s good to see you, but you both already know that’s a lie.” He deadpanned.

“What do you want, Sam?” Lucifer inquired, cocking his head sideways. “You wouldn’t let us out of the Cage after all you did to put us in it.” Sam smiled coldly.

“Perceptive of you. Actually, I need all four of you.” Michael arched an eyebrow.

“All four…?”

For the briefest instance, the world shimmered around them, before two other circles of Holy Fire were conjured up into existence. The one on the far left of Sam, closer to Lucifer, contained a short little man, with tousled brown hair and golden eyes, in jeans, a brown jacket and a red button-down. The one to the far right, closer to Michael, contained a dark-skinned woman with black hair to her shoulders, in a light gray suit. Lucifer blinked in surprise.

“Gabriel?” The Trickster gave his trademark smile.

“Hey, Bro.” Morningstar could hardly believe this. He’d –he’d _killed_ Gabriel, with his own hands. The Messenger of God looked over to the Winchester, raising an eyebrow. “So, you idiots broke the world. Again. Big shock. First it was the Apocalypse, then it was Leviathan, then releasing Abaddon and locking the angels out of heaven, and now you went unleashed the Darkness.” Lucifer felt his blood grow chill. He may not have been afraid of much, but the Darkness….it terrified him. He remembered what it was like, bearing the prison on his arm. Gabriel’s eyes were fixed to the hunter, a sarcastic look on his face.“Way. To go. Sam.” The hunter’s face had hardened in anger.

“If I remember correctly, the Apocalypse was pretty much a tag-team effort by all of you idiots.” Sam answered. “You let my grandfather get possessed, you let Azazel kill my mom’s family and my dad, let my mom make the deal, you let her die, let my dad go crazy, take me and Dean on the road, have my girlfriend die, and then have Dean die, and giving me this bullshit lesson about getting over it when you could’ve saved him _the whole time_ , and did nothing to help my descent into insanity and grief. So, saying the Apocalypse is ‘my fault’ is true, but you were pulling the strings, just like everyone else, Gabriel. Don’t act so high and mighty by placing all the blame on me.” The angel blinked. Sam might as well have slapped him. “Not to mention, casting the angels out of heaven and unleashing the Leviathan were caused by Castiel. I don’t blame him entirely, because he was pressured into it by Divine Idiocy on all sides, what with Naomi, and Raphael and Metatron influencing him. And Abaddon was never ‘released’. She was displaced by time travel, thanks to my Grandfather.

“Anyways, I’m here to _stop_ the Darkness. Wouldn’t have called on you, wouldn’t have freed Michael and Lucifer, and wouldn’t have asked for help with resurrecting Raphael if I wasn’t desperate.” Lucifer sneered.

“I hope you aren’t going to have me take on that Mark again, cause it’s not happening.” Sam shook his head.

“No, of course not. The Mark was just the start of the problem. Creating it again will only you back where you started.”

“What do you propose we do, then, Winchester?” Raphael asked, smoothing down the front of his/her suit. Sam gave a sigh.

“Well, you probably won’t like it.” He answered. “I’ll need to bind the Darkness to a single point, similar to the Mark, and then use your power to destroy it.” Morningstar coughed slighty, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

“Sorry, destroy the _Darkness_?” Sam nodded. He almost laughed at the human’s eagerness. “So, God and the four archangels couldn’t do it, but somehow you can?” The hunter gave a shrug.

“You couldn’t destroy the Darkness in it’s original form.” He explained. “But now, it’s weak. Killing it will take a lot of mental strength, and a lot of juice, but with enough souls and enough Grace, I think I can do it.”

“You’re going to take our graces.” Michael repeated. The hunter nodded. The eldest Archangel laughed. “And you expect us to do this because you’re asking us?” Sam gave a shake of his head.

“No, I expect you to do this because _He_ asked you.” As one, the Archangels turned and saw a demure little man with a beard, scraggly hair, and bright blue eyes. To the human eye, he was a small, unimpressive guy, with nothing unique or special about him.

The sheer power emanating from him, whipping like wave after wave, was what made the four of them stiffen.

“Dad….?” Lucifer asked. The man smiled.

“Hello, my sons.” He looked to Raphael, and tilted his head a bit. “And my daughter, I suppose.”

“Father, you cannot be seriously allowing the Abomination-”

“Be careful how you speak, Michael.” God warned. “Sam is my creation, just like you.”

“Well, you know how I feel in general for your creations after us, Dad.” Lucifer snorted. “Plus, this one has demon blood in him. He isn’t _all_ your creation.”

“Demon Blood doesn’t equal demon. The Trials wouldn’t have worked otherwise.” Sam explained. Lucifer paused, tilting his head.

“ _You_ undertook the Trials?” He said, disbelieving. His True Vessel gave a shrug.

“I was going to finish them, but Dean gave some crap about how I couldn’t leave him, so I stopped in the middle of curing Crowley. Probably would’ve prevented a whole lot of stuff, but Oh, well.” Seeing the look of shock on still on the Archangel’s face, the hunter’s face became marred by a sneer. “Didn’t expect the two brothers you dismissed as _pawns_ to amount to much, did you?” There was silence. Sam pressed on.

“Anyways, The Darkness got unleashed after I undid the Mark of Cain on Dean’s arm. I reactivated my psychic powers, started using magic to become a witch, and when I got cornered by that Seraphim, Selaphiel, I took her grace, merged it with my soul, and became an angel.” The angels blinked as one.

“So…..” Gabriel began awkwardly. “You need our graces.” Sam nodded.

“Yeah. And the Grace of every other angel, and the Horsemen’s rings, and All the Words of God, and the souls of the roughly 100 billion humans who have died since the beginning of time.”

“Don’t forget the souls of monsters and demons.” The Father pointed out. The hunter frowned.

“Won’t that make the Darkness’ job of possessing me easier?” He asked. The Divine one shook his head.

“Not after we cure them.” Turning to his four eldest children, he gave a sad smile. “I understand by agreeing to this, you’re forfeiting the powers you’ve held since the dawn of time. And, given how I’ve ignored you, you have every right to say no.” Lucifer snorted.

“Yeah, especially seeing as you pretty much imprisoned me for something that wasn’t my fault, Dad.” He bit back. He knew that sassing the Almighty could get even an archangel punished severely, but he couldn’t help it.  “You want me to give up our graces for a world of petty, evil beings, to the idiot who unleashed the Darkness and put me back in the Cage, after spending the majority of my eternity in the torture cell you designed for the Darkness’ flaws.”

“Humans are far less petty than you, Lucifer.” Sam pointed out, raising an eyebrow. “And they were only petty at all because you corrupted them. And if you call the person who put you back in the Cage an Idiot, I don’t know what that says for you.”

It took every fiber in his being not to throttle that smug little human, especially considering his brothers were struggling to contain their laughter. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t walk through the ring of holy fire. It didn’t matter that his dad was watching. Hell, it didn’t even matter that Winchester would be brought back as soon as he was dead. He would just, for once, like to feel the flesh of the brat who screwed up everything tear apart like tissue paper in his hand.

“So, what.” Gabriel coughed. “We surrender our graces to you, we become human, you become almost god-like, and you eliminate the Darkness, somehow, live out the rest of your life, and the rest of humanity is saved?” Sam shook his head solemnly.

“The point is not just to save the souls of generations to come.” Raphael quirked an eyebrow.

“Than what, pray-tell, is it?” She (He?) asked. Lucifer’s True Vessel gave a huff.

“To save them all.” The Morningstar frowned

“Who?”

“Every Soul.” For the second time that hour, all four archangels had looks of disbelief on their face. Sam smiled. “Guess we have some work to do.”


	2. Amazing Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean drops in uninvited.
> 
> Sam has God call up a few familiar faces, and has a tense chat with Luci.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long, and is also so short. But I've decided that I can either choose to write fairly long chapters over long periods of time, or just update every time I feel that I've reached the proper amount. The latter is fun, but also time consuming. I think I'll stick to this for a while.
> 
> (Please note, Lucifer is somewhat redeemed, but that's mainly because of his new found humanity.)

_Sam hated himself even more for doing this. Given the circumstances, though, he didn’t have much choice. Just like all the poor decisions He, Dean and Castiel had made in the past (trusting Crowley or Rowena or Heaven or Hell, killing first and asking questions later, getting so many people (Kevin, Charlie, Jess, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Ash, Brady, Balthazar-goddamnit) killed just by interacting with them, and taking on power they couldn’t hope to control, be it blood, souls, or the Mark._

_And, of course, like most of their poor decisions, it was made to fix one of their previous messes. Instead, predictably, it had just spawned a larger one._

_And around and around they went._

_Saving each other, for no rational reason, because anyone who had caused this much destruction just by existing should’ve been obliterated long before Mess #781._

_But, seeing the mess they were currently in involved the primal evil, Sam rationed that he couldn’t make it any worse. Then again, he thought it couldn’t get any worse than having Dean on the loose with the Mark, and look what removing it had done._

_He was currently sitting on his bed in his room in the bunker, eyes concentrated on the picture of Dean and him that his brother broken in his rage, and muttering something about how ‘If you could’ve just listened to a freaking order for once in your life, Charlie would still be alive, and the Darkness wouldn’t be wreaking chaos.’_

_Narrowing his eyes, he tried to recall the same feeling he felt when he used his telekinesis to hold down a demon, or to pull aside the drawer locking him in the Millers’ closet._

_The picture fell to the floor, drawing a smile on Sam’s face._

* * *

“Damn it!” Dean swore, slamming the bottle of Jack Daniels on the table. Unfortunately, it shattered, the contents leaking out. Rowena gave a huff.

“Well, that’s an overreaction.” She said, turning back to the charred remains of what had been a map of the United States.

“You said the spell would work.” The hunter said with a snarl.

“I said it  _might_  work.” She said. “I’m used to using this spell on mortals, not on Psychic Angel-Witches, running around with the Word of God.”

“Would it be possible to find Sam using a map of the world?” Castiel asked. “Perhaps he’s hiding out in a foreign location.” The Witch shook her head.

“No, if the tracking issue was because he was in a different part of the world, the flame would have stayed lit.” She said. “It’s not finding Samuel because he is hiding.” To say the least, Dean wasn’t happy.

“Then what good are you?” He spat, pressing the knife to her back. She shrugged.

“No more use than you usually are, I suppose.”  Dean gave another growl, readying to sink the knife into her.

“Now, Mother, be kind to Squirrel.” Crowley said. They’d called the demon to let them now they had his mother, to use as leverage for using hell’s forces to find Sam. “After all, given my current sympathies, I’m rather inclined to have him run you through.” The Witch gave a dirty look to the King of Hell.

“Typical of you, Fergus. Of course you hang your own mother out to dry.”

“My own mother, who tried to kill me.” The demon pointed out. “And who is currently trying to locate the Moose who was going to let you. So, please explain to me why I should be sympathetic.” The redhead shrugged, her gaze shifting to Castiel.

“What about Wee Birdy over here? Can’t he use some of Heaven’s power?” Castiel gave a sigh.

“We’ve tried using my power. I’ve contacted other angels as well. They still haven’t found a way to locate Sam.” The Witch sneered.

“So none of us are of use.” She declared. “Perfect, just perfect.” Dean was strongly resisting the urge to stab her. Looking at his Angel friend for some assistance, he frowned at Castiel’s expression, which was a combination of confusion, discomfort, and disbelief.

“Cass?” He asked tentatively, reaching out to grab his friend’s hand. “Y’okay?” The angel shook his head.

“I’m feeling uncomfortable.” He said, rubbing his stomach. Crowley quirked an eyebrow.

“Marvelous. Now the only angel on call has developed what seems to be IBS.” Suddenly, Castiel gave a sharp groan of pain, sinking to his knees.

“Cass?!” Dean kneeled down, scooping his friend up. As Cass got to his feet, the room around him and Dean flickered, fading away to reveal a courtyard lit only by moonlight, other angels surrounding them completely. They were all standing still in shock, looking at the center Podium –

Where, along with what looked like Gabriel the Trickster, Chuck the (apparently not) dead Prophet, a younger version of John Winchester, that poor bastard Nick who became Lucifer’s first vessel, and the female vessel of Raphael, stood Sam.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, his voice weak. His brother did not respond. Stepping up onto the platform, the younger Winchester cleared his throat.

Out from Sam’s mouth flowed words smoother than honey. Of course, they weren’t in English, but based on the fact that they were currently surrounded by Angels, Dean guessed it was Enochian. He didn’t know where in the Hell Sam  _learned_  Enochian, but it wasn’t really important. What was important was reaching his little brother.

“Sammy!” Shifting through the crowd of angels, he raced towards the platform. All of a sudden, white light began to pour out from the mouths of every angel. And he swore that some of the faces in the crowd were those of dead angels. That flash of red, wasn’t that Anna? And there, beside her, Gadreel. The angel he’d trusted, the one who ended up killing Kevin and hijacking Sam and who ended up blowing himself up to help Cass save Heaven from Meta-Douche. It didn’t end there: Naomi, Alfie, Tessa, Uriel, Zachariah, Balthazar-

The light, which Dean recognized as grace, lifted up into the air, and begin to swirl above the platform where his younger brother stood. Sam kept chanting on in Enochian. The only unaffected person, besides the two brothers, was little Chuck, who was staring intently at Sam.

“Sam!” As he neared the platform, he saw Sam falter slightly. No eye contact, obviously, but still. The younger Winchester almost immediately carried on, and the grace slowly descended upon him. Dean ran to the stairs, ready to knock his brother to the ground, when he practically ran into Chuck.

“Dean, stop.” The not-so-dead prophet said. The hunter ignored him, moving to get past the writer-

-only to get knocked flat on his ass.

“Stop.” The Prophet repeated, features beginning to glow.

“I’m not leavin’ without my brother.” Chuck tilted his head.

“That’s for Sam to decide. And the answer is no.” The vortex of grace began to lower, forcing itself into Sam’s open mouth. Almost immediately, the younger Winchester gave a scream of agony.

“SAM!” Dean shouted, feeling his heart drop. His second attempt to push past the nerdy little prophet was actually less successful than the first had been, as he suddenly reappeared to where Castiel had been standing transfixed.

The grace of perhaps every angel, living or apparently not-so-dead, poured into the younger Winchester at a continuous rate. Sam’s screaming didn’t stop. Actually, if anything, it intensified. It was probably almost as painful to Dean as it was to Sam, to watch his little brother in so much agony. He felt every protective big brother urge flare up.

He felt the need to save his little brother, no matter how far off the reservation he’d gone. He needed to save his brother – the angel, the witch, the psychic, the demon – and make him normal again, make him human. Have him by his side, like he should be. The Winchester boys, fighting the good fight. Saving the world.

He tried to move, tried to scream for Sam, but he had been frozen in place, his voice muted. All he could do was watch the kid who he’d looked after since he was four and a half suffer what had to be the most unendurable pain ever.

Sam’s entire body was glowing with energy, the same kind of radiation generated from the Final Trial. The one Dean couldn’t let him finish, because fuck the world and everyone in it. Sam and Dean didn’t owe the world anything: it had been nothing but cruel to them. Dean wasn’t going to give up the one person who mattered to him more than anyone to save the world, not again. He’d already done that once, and there had never been any thanks to him or Sam, (except for that one time Charlie had taken note of his effort).

And, of course, now Sam was on another suicidal mission, to save the world from what had been an honest mistake to rescue the person he cared about. To prove to Dean how much he cared about him, even when Dean and Castiel and Charlie had all told him how it was better off leaving things be.

The last of the grace disappeared into Sam, and everything around Dean faded into darkness.

* * *

“Squirrel?  _Squirrel!_  Oh, Bollocks-wake up, Dean!” He felt his eyes flicker open, and was met with the sight of a rather annoyed Crowley, and the scent of something really rank and nasty under his nose.

“Ah, he lives and breathes.” Rowena said, tilting her head towards him from the table closest to them. “What about Feathers over there? Is he alright?”

“He’ll be fine, mother. He’s an angel, after all. Isn’t that right, Cass?”

“No….”A grumbly voice answered.

“Pardon?”

“I’m not an angel………not anymore..”

“Alright……thanks for the cryptic messages, Feathers. Anything useful to say?”

“We saw Sam.”

“Fine then, more crypticism.” The King of Hell said. As Dean rose off his back, the demon nodded his assent. “Ah, Dean. Back from the land of Dreams.”

“Lay off, Crowley.” The Hunter grumbled, pulling himself off. “Cass, ‘dja get a read on his location?” The angel didn’t respond, instead rising to his feet and walking towards the library. “Cass?” Getting up, Dean approached his friend. “What’s up, Man?”

“Dean.” The angel’s voice was, as usual, harsh and gruff. However, Dean heard the hurt layered in it. It was a tone that was much more common for Cass (or Dean, or even Sam, now that he thought about it) than any emotion.

“What?” He asked, trying to sound irritated, as opposed to fearful.

“I know what Sam is trying to do.” After a pause, Castiel’s eyes locked with Dean’s. “He’s going to destroy the Darkness.” Dean blinked.

“How’s he gonna manage that?” He said with a snort. He moved over to the stand where he kept several glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring himself a decent helping. It was assy to say of his brother, lacking in complete and utter confidence, but honestly, what _could_ Sam do without loads of help? That hallucination thing – it couldn’t have been real. Could it?

The angel shrugged his shoulders.

“Just a rough guess, but I think consuming the grace of every angel ever created might have helped.”

Dean’s glass fell to the ground.

* * *

In his blood, Sam felt an overwhelming thrum of power.

This feeling – all this grace, all this celestial intent, inside him – it was different from anything else he’d ever experienced.

When he had been his normal self, he had always sensed something wrong. A kind of anomaly, one that he couldn’t explain. He’d gone to a couple doctors when he was at Stanford, when he felt safe enough to confess, but they’d always reported that there was nothing unusual. Then again, he supposed the demons had kept a close watch, making sure no normal person would be able to see the sulfur lingering in his blood.

Demon blood had given him an exhilarating rush, as had using his psychic powers. But it came at a cost, amplifying the disgust and self-hatred he felt. The urge to rip off his skin, tear out his eyes, chug Drano. Anything to clean himself.

Possession was a sick kind of rape (the actually kind was something Sam was also intimately familiar with). The awareness of invasion, but usually without an explicit knowledge of what. There were always fragments, remnants, in the subconscious, which often were drowned out, despite their constant struggle to reach the surface.

The trials had made him feel pure, but also made him aware that he was dying. The only other times where Sam had felt pure were usually when he felt the life ebbing away from his body. The witch powers and the resurging of his psychic abilities, like demon blood, made him feel powerful, but instead of adding disgust, it just gave the knowledge that his body had become its own enemy, tearing itself open and apart.

The current sensation was power, stronger than he felt when on Demon blood or when casting spells. It also had the benefit of not coming attached to any negative feelings, such as eminent death or pure disgust. It, like the trials, had offered a feeling of utter purity, and cleanliness.

And that was perhaps why Sam felt so alien in his own body.

It really was disheartening, that the only way he could feel both alive and pure in his own body would also make him feel like he didn’t belong there, like he deserved a form that was better fitting. Like he wasn’t Sam Winchester.

Of course, this had been a similar feeling to when he’d been possessed by Lucifer, but he was at least able to partially ignore it, as he had almost never been in control of himself, and in the only moment where he had been, he was focusing on jumping back into the pit.

All of the angels, living or recently resurrected, weren’t exactly about to argue with their long-absent father, and the prospect of either giving up their grace and falling to the status of mortals or condemning the universe to its eminent destruction hadn’t been really that hard of a choice.

Of course, many had reservations of surrendering said grace to the Abomination, the Perfect Vessel for the most rebellious of angels, the personification of all forms of chaos and discord, the Unleasher of Lucifer and the Darkness, the Selfish one who’d refused to close the Gates of Hell, and the embodiment of the ultimate opposition to God’s will. But a few strong-worded commands from the Creator himself silenced any and all complaint.

The angels, or rather, former angels, had left the summoning place in a manner of different ways. While Cass and spare others had been banished as soon as they had been summoned, others lingered.

The resurrected angels and the Archangels had been placed in hollow vessels, leaving the question of what would become of the Vessel’s soul irrelevant. Others, like Flagstaff and Hannah, did not have the same luxury, but decided they would like to stay on the earth. They had been given Vessels identical to their current ones (or preferred ones, in Hannah’s case). The actual vessel became vacant, the angelic being contained within it moving to the soulless, empty construct that had been made for it. The said vessel was then sent back to wherever they had come from.The remaining portion, which wanted to be rid of Sam and God as soon as possible, Metatron and Bartholomew and Zachariah and a fair amount of others, chose rebirth. Their souls were tossed from their bodies and scattered across the earth, to impregnate a human and be born as flesh.

Sam clicked the stop button, ceasing the recording he was making. Using his psychic power, he removed the cassette out of the recorder and into his waiting hand. Whether he could find some way to get it to Dean, he didn’t know. But Sam would try everything before he gave up. If necessary, he would ask the angels. He’d ask Hannah, he’d ask Flagstaff, he’d ask Gabriel. Hell, he might even ask Lucifer.

And, speak of the Devil (or, at least, the man who up until very recently had been the devil), Sam could see his former tormentor approach him. There was an awkward pause, as Lucifer seated himself beside Sam on the hood of Sam’s Cadillac. The former archangel was silent, and Sam was 100% fine with that. At least there was no delusions whatsoever about their relationship. In the brief period before Sam began carrying out the ritual of conjuring and consuming every single grace of every angel to ever exist – when he was busy explaining the specifics of the plan to the Archangels, while God was drawing forth every angel and fallen angel, dead or alive, from Heaven or from the unknown that they went to when they were destroyed – Sam could barely contain his fear. He had to fight the urge to vomit, or cry, or relieve himself, or scream, or all of the above in a messy combination.

And he knew, intuitively, that all four Archangels were aware of it – they knew he was afraid, that he was terrified – and the only one who felt a slight ounce of regret for what happened to him was Gabriel. The other three, they were unapologetic to his torment. After all, he was just a human. He was not _even_ a human, he was an abomination – beneath their respect, beneath their love, beneath their compassion, beneath their mercy (Sam doubted they even had love, compassion or mercy). The only thing that prevented them from taunting him about how they had broken and tortured his soul was the watchful eye of God.

Even now, he felt uncomfortable being this close to Lucifer. Which was ridiculous, because the Second-born of God was now fully and completely human, and Sam had power beyond anything currently in existence, except of course God and the Darkness.

But he still couldn’t bring himself to meet the eyes of his former torturer. He felt fear, which was ridiculous, but he couldn’t exactly help it. It was a sort of peripheral thing, in the corner of his mind. He didn’t know what his fear was about, and he didn’t know whether it was rational, but it was still there.

“You know, I pride myself on being an exceptionally good reader of people.” The devil said, stretching his body out on the navy blue hood of the car. “Angels are usually proud pricks, humans are usually vain and petty, and demons usually are spiteful and hateful.

“ _You_ , on the other hand, have proven very difficult to make out.” At this, he turned to Sam, who said nothing. He continued. “You resent the fact that you haven’t been able to live a normal life, even after the Apocalypse, and it makes you mad as all get-out, but you don’t go out and fight it. You hate me and Michael more than almost anything, but even with our graces and unlimited power in your hands, you won’t kill us. You’ve always felt disgusted by your own existence, but yet you’ve never wanted to destroy yourself over it, instead only wanting to things better, make yourself better. You feel like you owe the world a favor, ignoring the fact that the world has done nothing for you, and you also feel like the world owes you nothing, which is untrue, because the world’s taken so much from you when you’ve given so much back. You always have loved and always will love your brother, though he’s done about half the shit to mess you up. Everyone who’s screwed with you, you still forgive – Ruby, Brady, Azazel, Meg, Crowley, Gadreel, Rowena, Dean, Castiel, your Dad, your Mom, your grandpa, the other psychics, Gabe,  _me_. I just don’t get you.” Lucifer shook his head. “It kinda pisses me off, if I’m honest.”

“Oh, I forgot, pissing you off is such a hard thing to do.” Sam spat, his anger flaring up. The former archangel glared, obviously hating to have his flaws pointed out to him by his former Vessel.

“Can I just ask one question?”

“You already have.” Lucifer snorted.

“Gosh, I forgot how bitingly sarcastic you are.” Moving past this quickly, Lucifer asked. “Why do you care so much? Why are you so willing to throw away your entire existence, when most people wouldn’t be willing to spill an ounce of blood?” Sam paused for a minute. He hadn’t really thought about it. He just gave a pathetic sort of shrug.

“Because I broke the world. Again.” He said. “I fixed it the last time to save it from you and your stupid brother, this should hardly come as a shock.”

“You’re hardly the only person to cause the Apocalypse, dumbo. Your mother sold her son to a demon because she was stupid enough to do anything for her boyfriend, even trust a demon, without thinking things through. Dean was just the same way with you, not asking twice and not thinking how he was condemning you to a life of loneliness. He also broke the first seal, which everyone seems to forget, and was intent on destroying Lilith just as much as you were. Not to mention, Heaven and Hell were feeding you two nothing but lies, and you couldn’t have killed Lilith if your buddy Castiel didn’t let you out of the detox.”

“Does it matter?” Sam asked. “None of that would’ve mattered if I hadn’t killed Lilith.” Lucifer shook his head.

“You wouldn’t have killed Lilith if none of that hadn’t happened.” Lucifer said. “And yet Lucy and Ethel both seem to conveniently gloss over all the details that anyone else besides you and Ruby played in causing the Apocalypse, and they also make it sound like ending the Apocalypse was an equally combined group effort, instead of riding only on your shoulders. In fact, they lately have completely ignored the fact that it could not have ended without you.” Sam opened his mouth to argue, but the devil went on. “And onto this whole Darkness issue…blaming you completely ignores the fact that Dean made the stupid choice to accept the Mark, instead of finding out the consequences upfront. And the fact that he tried to hide its effects from you, that he only tried to find a solution after he killed who knows how many people, and that he ignored the fact that it was turning him into a slaughter machine who would eventually kill his own brother, gets completely ignored.” Lucifer tilted his head to one side and snorted.

“The houses of Cain and Abel. You and Dean are just like them, you know. You, your mother, Nick, the other psychics and Abel were always trusting and caring and goodie-two shoes, but you’re also stupid and naïve about the goodness of humanity at times. It’s how I hoodwinked Abel in the first place – he was so willing to have faith, and he didn’t care about the personal risks. Same with how Azazel tricked your Mom. And how Ruby and Dean and everyone else has pulled the wool over your eyes time and time again. And Dean and Cain – Adam and your Poppa, too, for that matter – they can be good guys, sure. Best intentions. But they have this self-righteousness, this anger, this moral superiority that no one can ever convince them they’re wrong. They never are forward-thinking, they never consider the consequences, and the proof’s in the pudding. Cain just _accepted_ the Mark. So did Dean. Same way Adam and John just allowed Michael to use them like cheap condoms, same way John threw your lives away to get his revenge, same way Dean’s controlled and manipulated your life, down to the very parsec, ever since you two headed out from Stanford. And at the end of the day, Cain’s line views that their actions are righteous and well-intended, and ultimately that _their_ feelings matter more than those of the people around them.”

“And the relevance of this being…?”

“God, Sam, I knew you had issues to give Freud a headache, but jeez. Do you really think so little of yourself, that even to  _you_ , you’re just an expendable pawn?”

“I’m smart enough to know that literally endless amounts of people would still be alive if it weren’t for me.” Sam said hotly, his blood pounding. Beneath that, he felt the power running through him give a thrum. “I’m smart enough to know that the world would be a markedly better place if Sam Winchester did not exist, or had just died young. My mom and Dad and Dean would have their happy, apple-pie family, and Jess and Charlie and Brady and Kevin would’ve had bright futures, and my grandparents could’ve been spared by Azazel, if I was never meant to be. I could’ve been smart enough to stick to hunting, not screwing up Jess and Brady’s lives at Stanford. I bet they’re not the only friends from Stanford that got hurt or targeted because of me, are they? How many of my college friends were possessed by demons, or cursed, or tortured because of me? How many lives could I have saved by not starting the Apocalypse to begin with, or staying in Hell instead of roaming around soulless, or closing the gates of Hell instead of pussying out to Dean’s command, or listening to Dean and not undoing the Mark of Cain? How many friends would still be alive, Lucifer? Huh? Charlie? Kevin? Jo? Ellen? Ash?” Sam tightened his fists, and the Earth beneath the car gave a rumble.

Lucifer, the second-born of God, one of the only angels to ever fight the Darkness, who had tortured Sam and broken him, recoiled in fear. And for good reason, Sam supposed. Sam had more power than the four archangels combined ever had. His power easily surpassed at least ten archangels (if there’d been ten archangels). Sighing, the former Vessel allowed his power to withdraw into himself, as to not terrify the now-human Devil.

The fact that he was trying to avoid scaring the entity that literally spent eons thriving off of his fear, his pain, his misery, his self-loathing, was something he found actually quite hilarious, in a way so twisted and sickening it barely would make sense to either a demon or an angel, much less the ordinary human Sam so often tried (and so brutally failed) to be.

“You know this is a suicide mission, don’t you.” The Devil said after a pause. “You have to. You’re smart, smarter than people ever give you credit for. You know that even if you do win, the Darkness will obliterate you.”

“Obviously.” Sam said. “I knew what I was getting into when I said yes to you. I knew I was supposed to die when I was wrapping up the trials. Does it suck, knowing I’m going to die? Yes. But I deserve it. And it’s not like it’s the first time.”

“You know I’m talking about a hell of a lot more than death, Samm-o.” There was a silence, as Vessel and Archangel shared a glance. The former Archangel was biting his lip and giving Sam an expression that remarkably resembled pity.

No, fuck this. He wasn’t having a therapy session with the one who victimized him.

“Well, I’ve loved this catching up,” Sam said, hauling himself to his knees. “But I have to go and uh…do a couple things.”

“Sam –” But as Lucifer reached out to touch him, he was gone.

 

 

 


	3. Strong at the Broken Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The World Breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. -Ernest Hemingway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for descriptions of torture and mentions of rape. Racist, Homophobic, and Transphobic themes, and use of homophobic and transphobic language.

_“Sam.”_

_He was aware of a shooting pain in his shoulder, and then his forehead. Opening his eyes, he found himself in his chair on the floor of the Bunker Library. He'd evidently fallen in the midst of a nightmare._

_Slowly, Sam struggled out of the chair, rising to his feet and pulling the chair up with him, setting himself back into the workspace he’d fallen asleep at. The terrible familiar coldness he'd come to associate with the devil was still lingering in his body. These nightmares had been a reoccurring thing for the past few weeks, becoming stronger and stronger. Of course, Sam had been no stranger to nightmares. They had been a constant in his life as much as Dean or Death had been. However, there had always been a variety, especially as the years went on. So much guilt acquiesced over time. He could go from dreaming about his numerous soulless victims to Jess' death to being possessed by Meg or tortured by Lucifer or drugged by Ruby._

_However, any visions of Kevin's sockets being burned out or of Dean being torn to ribbons by the Hellhounds had been increasingly replaced by memories of the Cage. There had only been one time when he could remember his dreams having such a specific focus. When his wall had broken, and the memories of his time in Hell had come flooding back in._

_It made sense, of course. Sam'd have to be an idiot to think reactivating his psychic abilities would be free of consequence. And it should only make sense that the consequence was reliving the punishment he'd endured for using them the first time._

_Not that these were deterring Sam in the slightest. The memories were getting worse, but nothing a little bit of magic and a lot more alcohol than what was considered remotely safe couldn't cure. And if this was the way to stop the Darkness, so be it._

_Checking the time, Sam saw that it was approaching 5 A.M. The last semi-conscious thought he'd had had been at about 3:30. In less than a week, his average sleep time had gone from 6 hours to less than 1 and a half. Hence the specific material Sam had fallen asleep over – Jack Daniels and a few of the various Men of Letters compendiums of spells, to find a decent cure for his insomnia._

_Examining the page of what many Men of Letters had described as “a wondrous Incan method to recapture lost male virility, and solve any inadequacies in the inner thigh”, Sam closed “ Pre-Colombian American Magic: Volume XI”. The healing spells within had many benefits, but none involved insomnia. He reached to open “Post-Colombian North American Magic: Volume VII”. The first page was a shoddy woodcut, depicting a woman wearing a ring and being stabbed in the heart._

_“Bennett’s Rejuvenator was a spell created in the 1860s in Virginia, by an African American witch. The spell can be cast on any object, and will allow the wearer to be restored to life if fatally injured. However, continued use of the object (five or more times) is believed to affect the mindset of the individual, contributing to homicidal tendencies. Below is the enchantment.”_

_It was possible that sleep deprivation would kill him, but he really hoped that he could solve the issue before it amounted to that. That spell would be a great one to bookmark, however. Sam reached for “ Early to Classical Mediterranean Magic: Volume I”._

_“Hapi’s Cradle originates from Egypt. It was named for the God who supposedly caused the seasonal flooding of the Nile, and has a similar effect in that water will emanate from wherever the symbol is drawn in blood.”_

_The symbol shown was octagonal, with hieroglyphic scrawl at each of the points. Aside it was a blue-skinned man Sam assumed to be Hapi. And below the symbol were instructions on how to draw it in blood and then activate it with the appropriate words. Interesting, but not needed. He bookmarked the page, and flipped several pages._

_“The Tauran Dream Hex is an ancient Minoan spell, designed to lengthen the slumbers of those within a given proximity of the symbol. The original design was purportedly to tame the infamous Minotaur that King Minos kept locked beneath the city of Crete. Placed at numerous points in the Labyrinth, this spell created a web that kept the Minotaur asleep for lengthy periods of time, as long as seven years without disturbance. Whenever the wards wore off, the Minotaur was distracted by the sacrificing of fourteen youths, and the symbols were redrawn.”_

_This drawing had several overlapping symbols, a hexagon with a triangle inverted at each point, with a circle in the center. Sam gave a nod of appreciation. Easy enough to replicate, gave a straight-forward solution to his issue, arguably concealable. There were several footnotes from Men of Letters._

_“First of August, the Year of Our Lord 1830 – The symbol’s size is found to correlate to the strength of the spell. For a Healthy Caucasian Man of Average Build and his mid-thirties, a symbol of 5 square inches will put him to sleep for roughly 1 hour.” Well, that obviously wouldn’t hold so long, for Sam at least. The taint of demon blood certainly had had its effects on him, and the memories of The Cage and continued use of his powers had taken their toll on his health. If he was lucky, it would be roughly a sixth the time._

_“November 18 th, 1875 – The presence of multiple symbols of the same size has a stronger effect than simply doubling the size of the symbol. Doubling the size simply doubles the average effect time, while drawing extra symbols of the same size increases the average effect time by 2.5 the previous amount.” Good to note. It would be easier to make numerous small inconspicuous symbols than a single large one._

_“February 29 th, 1912 – The positioning of the symbols will have relevance of the effect. Placement of the symbols together on a single surface (i.e: wall, ceiling, floor) will be less effective than placing the symbols on multiple surfaces (i.e: multiple walls or the ceiling and floor). The most effective method is placing them on all possible surfaces, and creating a web of aligning sigils.” Duly noted._

_“March 8 th, 1932 – The medium in which the sigils are drawn affects the strength. If the Hex is drawn in blood, it has stronger effect than if it was drawn in ink. The power of the creature’s blood it was drawn with will also have some effect. Drawing the sigil in the blood of a lamb or goat will have less effect than if human blood is used, and human blood pales in comparison to blood of a pagan god or demon.” Also important to note. But Sam was thinking on using his blood anyway. After all that happened with Ruby and the demon blood, he didn’t think Dean would tolerate using any blood but their own._

_Right on schedule, the older Winchester marched in. Sam made no effort to hide the books, knowing his brother would probably pass this off as an attempt to look for a way to slow down the Darkness._

_“Well, see you finally got up.” This passive aggressiveness had become commonplace now. But it wasn’t much different than the previous instances when the Winchesters had had the threat of oblivion on their tail. If Sam was being completely honest, it might’ve also happened in the times between each major disaster. “Found a hunt.”_

_“Really?” Sam sat up, eyeing his brother. “Where?”_

_“Glendale, Arizona.” The younger hunter frowned._

_“What’s the case?” In response, Dean tossed him a dossier. The files included around five people from Glendale, with no pattern in gender, occupation, age, or race._

_“Couple a folks from just got up and left. No reason for them to leave, and no trace of a body.”_

_“Well, people disappear all the time, Dean.” Sam said. “Even if it’s something to look into, we don’t know if it’s necessarily our kind of thing.” Dean gave a huff, his expression annoyed._

_“Yeah, well get this. Some of the vics reported hearing voices before they disappeared. Sayin’ that ‘The Darkness’ was asking them to do things.”_

_“You think the Darkness could’ve caused this?”_

_“Well, it’s been a couple weeks since it got loose and we’ve heard nothing from it.” Dean’s shoulders shrugged. “We don’t exactly know it’s powers, but getting inside people’s heads is nothing. Probably child’s play for an ancient evil force.”_

_“Okay.” Sam nodded. Just as Dean turned around to leave, he asked. “Do we have a plan?” Dean spun back around._

_“For?”_

_“In case that it is the Darkness.” Sam said. “Like, a plan of attack to stop it?” Dean shrugged._

_“Dunno, what’ve you found on it?”_

_“Nothing.” Sam said, giving a sigh of frustration. “I’ve looked through all the oldest civilizations – Sumerian, Babylonian, Akkadian, Harappan, Proto-Egyptian and Chinese, Olmec. Nothing.” His brother gave a grunt._

_“Then check again. There’s gotta be something. Always is.”_

_“Dean, the Darkness is a Primordial being that predates God. The only people in a condition to know existed before the universe was created – God, the Archangels, and maybe a couple others. Angels, Demons and Monsters don’t even have myths about it, like they did with the other things we’ve encountered. I’m not sure I can find something on this –”_

_“Then don’t stop until you do.” Dean cut him off. “I don’t know what you think this is, Sam, but we can’t exactly sit around and let doomsday happen. So unless you find something saying it’s hopeless, you keep looking. That’s an order. Try to follow this one.” Sam bit his tongue, not willing to get into an argument with Dean. He knew his brother was frustrated, and unfortunately the only way Dean knew how to channel that frustration was towards his aggression. “Be ready to leave in 5.”_

_“Sure.” Sam said as Dean left the room. Standing up, he flipped each compendium to the pages he had bookmarked, and took a few quick pictures with his phone. Getting back to the page on the Tauran Hex, he scanned the page again. He noticed a dark stain in the middle of the sigil that hadn’t been there before. As he stared at it, it seemed to grow larger and larger._

_Frowning, he wiped the stain and inspected it. Spread on his fingers, it was a dark red that was unmistakable for anything else. Holding his hand up to his nose, he wiped it to discover more blood. Grabbing a nearby box of tissues, he worked to stop the flow of blood._

_He looked around nervously. Thankfully, Dean wasn’t anywhere to be seen, so he had likely not seen the blood. A relief for Sam, so he wouldn’t have to deal with either fierce overprotection and panic, or worse, indifference._

_He would have to hope the sleep spell would fix his problem. Otherwise, he might not be able to survive long enough to find a plan to fight the Darkness._

* * *

 

_Pain._

_Chaos._

_Agony._

_The fire of a thousand suns scorched and cooked his flesh………………._

_…………………………and a frost well below true zero cracked at his lips and froze his bones._

_“My, my, Sam….”_

_The music of endless screams, coming from his throat._

_The coppery taste of blood, clogging his lungs._

_The putrid scent of burning flesh, stinging his eyes and nose._

_“What a beautiful mess you make……”_

_Ice froze his veins and covered his orifices, stealing breath and cries from his lips._

_Eyes melted from his sockets, coalescing in to a molten sludge that burned his skin._

_Knives dug into his back, alighting his body with a new agonizing sensation, followed by a numbing._

_The frost which had blocked his mouth shattered, the shards impaling his mouth , and causing him to scream, beg for mercy, for death, for God –_

_“YOU DARE, IN YOUR ARROGANCE, TO UTTER HIS NAME?!”_

_His skin tore away from his body, more directly exposing a layer of muscle and tissue to the fire and the pain._

_“YOU, LOWEST OF LOW! YOU, ABOMINATION!”_

_Sanity_

_Crumbling_

_Into –_

* * *

 

The first thing that Aaron became aware of was that in the back of his head, there was a constant, angry pounding sensation. Clearing his throat, he winced internally at how dry it felt. Like he was really thirsty.

Or like he had just finished gargling roughly 50 rusty nails. Either way.

His eyes were shut, but he could see the kaleidoscopic swirls of color – reds and oranges and yellows that were not at all calm or autumnal but angry and hating and spiteful, and blues and whites and blacks that were sinister and vicious as opposed to gentle like the sea or the moon or the midnight sky – that drew him back to  _that_  place. That unending, fettered place of torture and pain and hatred. That Prison. That Hell.

“Well, it’s more of a Cage than it is Hell itself.” A deep voice said with a chuckle. Aaron felt a frown draw itself on his face, and opened an eyelid, before hastily shutting it again, as the garish light was unbearable. “One second, sorry.” Through the constant pounding in his head, Aaron became aware of a pressing sensation that felt situated right above his nose. Something unidentifiable poured out from that spot like a flood breaking a dam, washing over his body. It was so distant, and yet so close. It was the feeling he’d (once) associated with embracing a friend, a family member. That feeling of holding a gleeful child or animal. That feeling of drawing close to a partner in bed, burying in their scent. That’s when the name occurred to him – Love.

Then, abruptly, the fingers removed themselves, and the overwhelming love left him. So, thankful, had the dryness in his throat and the throbbing in his head and the blare of colors. Opening his eyes, he realized that he was in what looked like a hospital room.

And in front of him, a soft smile on his face, was his rather attractive one-night-stand.

“Hi, Aaron.” Aaron blinked.

“Sam?” Being gay, and not out to his parents, and in college, and in New York of all places, Aaron had had his fair share of one night stands. Sam was perhaps one of the few whose names he could claim to remember.

Which may or may not have had to do with the fact that he’d repeated the man’s name multiple times into the night.

Hot damn, was that man talented.

For once in his life, Aaron found himself short of words. Perhaps (most likely) because he’d woken up in a hospital, with really no clue why he was there, and his super-hot older one-night stand was there. (Okay, so Sam wasn’t really older. Just, like, ten or so years older. In his early thirties.)

“You know, by this time, my one-night stands are usually gone.” Aaron said. This easily diffused the tension, allowing Sam to laugh. His entire body became surrounded by a radiant multicolored light, which gradually faded. “So, what happened? Why am I in the hospital?” Sam’s face instantly became a mask, cocking to one side. There was another shimmer, and Aaron saw that surrounded Sam were multiple faces of light, each possessing three pairs of eyes. These also eventually faded.

“You don’t remember.” It wasn’t a question. “You’ve been in a coma. For a couple months now.” Aaron blinked. Several months of his life had gone by, and he had been asleep for them.

Well, thank God he was an art major.

“And you’ve…been checking up on me?” Sam shrugged.

“Well, I’ve kind of felt responsible for you, considering I was the one who found you comatose.”

It was a blatant lie. Aaron knew it, he just wasn’t sure how. The visions of what he’d seen were strange, and he couldn’t divine the truth with them because of how outlandish they were. Instead, he decided to focus on the situation he currently was dealing with. A sickening thought occurred to him. If Sam had dropped in the hospital where he was, then what had his family done?

“Your parents dropped in a lot of times.” Sam said, almost as if he’d read Aaron’s mind. The fear must have been evident on Aaron’s face, because the man nodded. “This kind of outed you.”

“Shit.” His parents had found out. His Republican, Catholic parents had found out about the secret he’d been hiding from them since he was 15. The older man gave a sympathetic smile, radiating the golden glow again.

“It’s fine. They actually felt bad that you were afraid to come out.” He explained. “Of course, I didn’t exactly tell them who I was. Didn’t think that, even out, your parents would be okay with you hooking up with men a decade older than you.” Aaron chuckled weakly, sinking back onto the bed with relief.

“Thanks for that.” He said. “Would’ve been a whole other revelation for them to deal with.” A quick thought popped into his head. “Who did they think you were, by the way? And how did they find out I was gay if you didn’t say you were my one-night stand?”

“I, uh – ” The older man shrugged. “I basically told them I was the guy who found you, and I was just popping in to make sure you were okay.” There was a pause, and Sam pressed on, looking uncomfortable. “Your parents finding out had to do with them getting into an argument with your friends.” Aaron gave a groan.

“Derrick. It has to be.” Because Derrick, who was stupid enough to not know which fights pick, who didn’t have the common sense not to out other friends, who was super flamboyant and would have stuck out as gay like a sore thumb to Aaron’s parents, was definitely also the type to get homophobic comments from Mr. and Mrs. Reed when visiting Aaron, then get into a debate with his parents about homophobia, and then out their son as a slap in the face. “I’m telling James to keep him on a leash.”

“Funnily enough, I don’t think he’d mind.” Sam said, his voice layered with amusement. Aaron gave a snort. “So, do you remember anything while you were unconscious?”

He was about to answer no. Because, while he could fully remember the horrifying nature of what he just experienced, the memory of it was contained, as if behind a wall. Every detail, every image, every sensation, every moment – they seemed to have just been part of a really immersive movie, or book, or video game. (And, if he admitted to half of what he’d seen in his coma to someone, they’d either dismiss it or possibly come to the conclusion that Aaron was crazy.)

However, right before the ‘no’ left his lips, he remembered what the first voice, cold and breathing down his neck….  _“My, my, Sammy……what a beautiful mess you make.”_  He remembered how, when he’d come to, and had felt relief at being free of that hell, a voice had spoken audibly about what he’d been thinking.  _“Well, it’s more of a Cage than it is Hell itself.”_ He swallowed roughly.

“Was –” Aaron paused, unsure how to ask tactfully. “That was you?” Sam’s face fell, an expression of guilt evident. “All that – that  _stuff_  I saw. That happened to you?” The man remained silent.

Coincidentally, this spoke volumes.

“Oh, God – ” Aaron barely had time to reach for the wastebasket before he felt his stomach give way. He felt Sam’s hand rest gently against his back while he heaved into the bucket. By the time he had ceased, he felt dehydrated, and his throat was burning like fire. He was also sure that tears were streaming down his face. He turned to the older man, horror filling his gut.

“I’m…” Sam began. “I’m so, so sorry that that happened to you. I’ve never, ever wanted anyone to suffer that the way I have.” Aaron gave him a bewildered look. Having experienced that horrible pain, the knowledge of hell, and torture under the Devil and the supposedly noble Archangel Michael – and Sam was upset because Aaron had to bear witness to it?

“How are you still sane?” The older man let loose a chuckle.

“Sane’s relative, I think. But when you’ve never been normal, you eventually learn to deal with the never-ending insanity of everything coming at you. You either accept that, or get overwhelmed by attempting to deny it.” There was a pause.

“I still don’t understand how you can just – brush it aside.” Aaron said, confused. Sam bit his lip.

“Well, think of it this way. You’re gay, you know you’re gay, you’ve come to terms with it. It’s an unchangeable aspect of your personality, no matter how much so many people try to change it. Maybe even you have tried to change it. But now, you understand it won’t change, so you’ve embraced it. Now, consider the damage done when people try to change being gay, or try to change others being gay. Denying it just makes it worse.”

“So, you just accept the insanity as is, and suffer?” Sam shook his head.

“Hell no. You fight, and fight, and fight till your last breath to fix the suffering. Every political movement done by the underdogs – Abolitionism, Women’s Suffrage, the Civil rights movement, and LGBT activism – was carried out with the knowledge that something was wrong, and that the leaders of the movement would fight to their dying breath to fix it.” There was another pause. Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. “Anyways, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And it looks like you’re gonna be fine, so –”

“You healed me.” Aaron realized. “You pulled me out of that coma-thing, whatever it was.” The older man gave another shrug.

“I put you in the hospital to begin with. I’d define this less as saving you and more as righting my wrong.” Aaron frowned, unsure of how it was Sam’s fault. But then he remembered that understanding the situation, even slightly, required an immense knowledge of things that he previously thought were fictional. Huffing slightly, Sam gave a snap of his fingers. In his hands, Aaron noticed a small black laptop that certainly wasn’t there before, which he placed in the chair by Aaron’s bedside. Aaron must’ve had a gob smacked expression on his face, because Sam suddenly looked like he was fighting to contain a smile. “This should explain any questions you have.”

Normally, Aaron would’ve doubted it, but considering it came from thin air, he decided against arguing. As Sam began to walk away from his bedside, he turned to him.

“Wait,” The older man stopped, turning back to look at him. “Where are you going?” Sam gave a sad smile.

“To fix another mistake I’ve made.” Endless pairs of wings, made of the same golden light, surrounded Sam, and with another blink, he was gone.

* * *

 

Becky almost dropped her coffee cup in shock when she opened the door to her house.

“Sam?!” The hunter gave a wince at her screaming.

“Hey, Becky.” There was a pause, as Sam looked over her shoulder. “Mind if I just come in for a bit?” Blinking, Becky moved aside, opening the door wider so Sam could enter. Almost immediately, the hunter spun back around, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry for showing up out of the blue – ”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Becky said, waving her hand. “I’m just….” Stunned? Confused? A little bit of both? “I just haven’t had my coffee yet.” After a shock like this, she doubted she would need caffeine for a week. “Come in the kitchen, I’ll uh…. pour you some.”

* * *

 

“Okay, explain this again. Like I’m twelve.” Dean said, pouring a shot of scotch before downing it. Castiel rolled his eyes in frustration.

“God is offering Sam assistance to deal with the Darkness.” He began. “Sam’s plan is not to bind the Darkness, but destroy it completely.” Crowley, who was seated opposite Dean, gave a frown.

“Not to naysay Moose’s plan or anything, but that requires power he doesn’t possess, even as a psychic witch-angel thingy.”

“Yeah, plus God and the four archangels together could only seal it away.” Dean said. “Why’re things different now?” The angel gave a sigh.

“If you’d let me finish, I could explain it to you two.” After a beat, the former angel continued. “The Darkness is in a weakened state now, and lacks the strength it did at the beginning of time, making it destructible. As for the power, Sam is working on imbuing himself with the extra strength he needs. For now, he has the graces of every angel and archangel who ever lived, those previously deceased restored to life by God. However, God will probably do more to enhance Sam’s powers, giving him more things to help him fight the Darkness.”

“And once he has all this,” Crowley gestured at the empty space. “– Power, what will he do? Torch the Darkness? It may have escaped your notice, Pidgeon, but the Darkness isn’t exactly all in one place.”

“I was getting to that.” Cas said. “If you were going to let me finish.” The demon smirked, sitting back. “After Sam collects all possible resources of power, he intends to summon the Darkness.”

“Summon it.” Rowena said, looking up from the spell book she was reading. “Just, summon it.”

“Summon it, and destroy it.” The former angel continued, his voice growing ever more irritated. Dean huffed.

“Oh, that’s fucking swell. Sam’ll just summon the Darkness, putting it all in one place, and then try to destroy it. And if it goes wrong, like it normally does, he’ll just have amplified it’s power by putting it back together again.” Dean slammed his fist against the table, grinding his teeth. “Damnit, Sammy.”

“Hold on, Squirrel.” Crowley said. He turned to Castiel. “You really think it could work?” The fallen angel shrugged.

“Well, when the Darkness was originally bound, there were only the four Archangels. Sam has the graces of all four, plus the graces of every angel ever created. Depending on what other resources he chooses to tap for power, with God’s help, he could theoretically destroy the Darkness.”

“And what if he can’t, huh Cas?” Dean challenged, his eyes narrowing. “Or what if it just makes a bigger problem? It’s happened before. Sam uses magic and it creates a bigger problem – whether it was Lilith, or the Mark of Cain. It’s why we don’t solve our problems with magic.”

“Except when it suits _you_ , of course.” The hunter shot a glare at the King of Hell, who took another swig of Scotch.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean, Crowley?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow. The demon rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Dean. You use magic as a fix-it just as much as your brother, but you pretend to have the moral high ground when the tables are flipped. Act like it’s such a loathsome thing to consider. Remember the Demon Deal you made to save Sam? Or, perhaps when you blindly obeyed heaven for all their incompetence and apathy before the Apocalypse started? Maybe we should start with you agreeing to take the Mark of Cain, before asking the consequences. One ingenious plot after the other.”

“I don’t go around trusting every supernatural freak like he does, Crowley. Sam was trusting Ruby, and a Kitsune, and this one.” He gestured to Rowena. “I’d never trust – ”

“A demon?” Crowley asked, pointing to himself. “Or a vampire, or an angel, perhaps?” He pointed to Castiel. “Say what you will about Sam, but he never trusts the same creature twice. After Ruby, his only thought when a demon offered help was how best to cut their innards out. Every time you two idiots get help from me, he’s just waiting to get his knife in me. You’ve continuously trusted me and Cas, regardless how many times we’ve tried use you for ulterior motives.” Dean rolled his eyes. This obviously wasn’t getting him anywhere.

“Cas, do you know where Sam will be next?” The former angel, who had an expression of discomfort, gave a shrug.

“With the power of the graces, Sam could literally be anywhere. It all depends now on where he chooses to go, which I can’t determine.” Dean sighed, lowering his head.

_Where are you, Sam?_

* * *

 

It was a scene indeed. Sam Winchester – her crush, hero, ex-husband – sitting at the counter in her kitchen and drinking from a Supernatural mug. One that, quite ironically, happened to have some of his most iconic quotes from the supernatural series.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Sam said, taking a sip. “It’s great.” Of course. Small talk. Because that was all they ever had, besides Becky being totally unhealthily obsessive over Sam.

“I’m just so shocked.” She admitted, looking at no spot in particular on the counter. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I thought that after what happened with Guy and the potion –” She mentally slapped herself. _Great Idea, Becky. Remind him of you dosing him while he’s drinking from the coffee you handed him, that won’t trigger any bad memories or well-earned mistrust._

“Yeah, not the worst thing someone’s done to me.” Sam said with a laugh. It originally might’ve made her laugh, if she read it in a fanfic or something. Now, she just winced, because she had to consider what might’ve been the worst thing anyone had possibly done to Sam. “Trust me, you’re not the first person to do something dumb while trusting supernatural influence, and you’re not the last.” Becky wanted to point out that she essentially brainwashed and then tried to enslave and technically rape Sam, but she also wanted to heavily avoid it, considering the subject matter.

“Where’s Dean?” She asked. Sam bit his lip, shrugging.

“Around.” This wasn’t the whole truth, but Sam didn’t exactly owe her answers. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you for so long.” Becky wanted to also point out that this was intentional, but again avoided doing so. Especially since she couldn’t really blame him for it.

“Not much.” She gave a small smile. “Just been trying to listen to what you said about moving on.” Sam cocked an eyebrow.

“Is that right, _BeckyWinchester176_?” Becky turned red at the mention of her penname.

“Besides that,” She countered. “I’m trying to find a group of people outside of Supernatural to hang out with.” Sam eyed her, and she gave a shrug. “Yes, it’s admittedly harder than I thought, but the effort’s what matters.” She turned back to Sam. “Anyways, what’s new with you? I’m sure hunting is crazy as usual.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, you could say that. It always seems that every time I think I’ve seen it all, some crazy new stuff comes out of the woodwork like this is some badly-written television show.” Becky laughed at that.

“Totally. I remember getting more and more confused as the book series moved on. It was almost as insane as Lost.” Sam paused for a second, before nodding in agreement. “Any specific reason you wanted to check in, Sam?” She asked, eyeing him carefully. “Not to be too direct, but I’m not exactly the person you’d label most reliable.” Sam shrugged, before handing her a laptop that Becky was 100% sure Sam didn’t have in his hand previously.

“Short explanation?” The hunter asked, waiting for a nod before continuing. “Another Apocalypse that has to be averted. This time, it might bring things into the public eye, and there might not be anyone left who can change it with the wave of a hand.” He gestured to the computer in her hand. “This is a just-in-case.”

“In case of what?” Becky demanded, eyebrows knitting together.

“In case of people needing an explanation, and not worrying what the hell is going on. There are files on here containing everything ever related to hunting, my family history, and lore that I could access, to better explain this most recent apocalypse.” Made sense, even though Becky was still confused on why Sam was giving the information to her.

“Are you sure you want to give this to me?” Sam frowned at her statement, looking her up and down. “I haven’t exactly been helpful in the past.” His face shifts into one of understanding.

“I won’t exactly say what you’ve done is okay.” Sam admits. “Because it wasn’t, Becky.” Becky gave a nod, her head bowed in shame. “But you’re not the first, nor the last person to do something selfish. You should know me well enough to know that there are thousands of things that _I’m_ not proud of, times I’ve been selfish and destructive.”

Becky was pretty sure she could think of one time in particular. Maybe two, if the subtext she interpreted between Sam and Brady was accurate. The times Chuck had offered readers a look into Sam’s brain, it was clear Sam’s source of guilt was how he tarnished the lives of those around him. The continual sacrifices he perceived Dean making often drove him to deep self-hatred, sure, but memories of those from Stanford, particularly Jess and Brady, held an equally heavy guilt.

And it made sense. Because, at least from Sam’s point of view, the only blame on Jess’ death and Brady’s possession was Sam’s, since he made the choice to leave for Stanford, and insisted on trying to live a normal life.

Becky appreciated what Sam was trying to do, but also wanted to point out the massive differences between trying to enjoy college life and have a girlfriend (and possibly a boyfriend), and brainwashing someone so they would become your spouse. But she knew she would never win the argument with Sam.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered. “What I did…it was wrong on so many levels.”

“I understand what it’s like to be the freak and the outcast, Becky.” Sam smiled, his expression sad. “That’s why I guess you connected so well with me, when you thought I was fictional.” He reached out his hand, stroking her cheek. “I forgive you.” Becky gave a watery smile, wiping her eyes before the tears could slip from them. Sam made his way to the front of the house. Becky hastened to follow the hunter, watching as he pulled the door open.

“You’re leaving already?” She demanded. The hunter turned around, frowning.

“Kind of. I’ve got a job to do, Becky.” Becky rolled her eyes.

“You walked in for a cup of coffee, gave me some mysterious words of wisdom, and just hightail it out of here like it’s no big deal?” Sam looked somewhat apologetic, but he simply shrugged.

“Becky, there’s kind of an apocalypse I have to help thwart.” The girl blushed, nodding.

“Right, sorry.” Just as Sam exited the door, she called again after him. “Sam!” The hunter turned to her, his eyebrow raised in questioning. “Just, when it’s over… just let me know you’re safe.” Sam gave a knowing smile, and nodded. Becky fixed her eyes as he turned back away from the house, and made his way down the lawn. She blinked, and saw that the spot Sam had been was now empty. “Be safe, Sam.”

Making her way back inside, she placed the laptop Sam had handed her flat on her kitchen table. It was small, black, and seemingly plain. The only weird thing is that it had no specific logo on its cover, like most computers would. Opening the computer, she saw the screen flicker immediately to the home screen. The majority of the shortcuts on the screen were folder icons, all with labels. They read everything from “Winchester and Campbell family histories” to “Compendium of Entities” to “Person Files”. She noticed on the top left corner was a folder tab labeled “Beginning.” Clicking into it, it opened the selection of files, the first entitled “Disclaimer”. With a click, Becky was brought to a word document and began to read.

_“If you are not already aware with the hidden facets of the universe that surrounds you, then this will either sound completely insane, or will dramatically alter the world as you see it. Maybe both._

_My name is Sam Winchester, and I’ve lived on this Earth for roughly 32 years. I never had the luxury of ignorance for long, maybe until I was about seven. I’ve also never had the opportunity for being normal. I’m an orphan, motherless since I was six months old and fatherless since I was twenty-three. Those I’ve loved have been hurt, driven insane, and usually killed. I’ve often been on the wrong side of the law, and the wrong side of the natural order. I’ve broken the world more times than most people even thought it could be broken. I’ve died ridiculous amounts of times, topped only by my brother. The majority of my life has been spent in another dimension, as the personal chew toy of the two beings I helped put there. I’ve been many things in my life: A thief, a prisoner, a husband, a murderer, an addict, an academic, homeless, tortured, insane, a Stanford student. But the one thing that I’ve always been is a hunter._

_And this is all I’m good for at this point.”_

* * *

 

_“That’s it, Sammy. Give in. You enjoy this, don’t you?”_

_She shivered, as the tongue at her ear made a soft purring sound. In her other, she heard a fierce snarl._

_“Filth. Scum. Abomination. Scourge of the Earth. Hellraiser.”_

_The words were first in English, then slipped into others such as Spanish and French. Then came German, and then Arabic, then something suspiciously like Hebrew, then Latin, before progressing into incomprehensible babble that was almost completely guttural._

_All the while, something was digging into her throat, sending intense pain shooting up and down her body. Her mouth began to fill with the taste of blood, pouring into the back of her throat and cutting off her air supply. Her senses began to dull as she choked on the coppery liquid, her brain going fuzzy. Within seconds, the darkness claimed her._

**_“Wake up, Siddhi Bhattacharya.”_ **

* * *

 

Cindy shot straight up, her breathing hard. Observing the room around her, she realized she was in a hospital room. Being a lawyer, particularly one who took many domestic violence and injury cases, Cindy had seen her fair share of hospital rooms. She’d been to every Hospital in Cook County, and more than enough in the surrounding area. She immediately recognized this as the Rush University Medical Center, on West Congress Parkway. She relaxed a little, knowing from chats with some other lawyer “friends” who worked in medical malpractice that Rush didn’t have many issues in the way of ethical concerns.

“Well, look who’s up.” An older white nurse on the heavier side walked into her room, carrying a clipboard. “Glad to see you’re finally up, Cindy. Your parents have been worried sick about you. For a minute there, we didn’t think you were ever going to get better.” Cindy frowned. She didn’t remember anything that might have triggered a coma, only remembering that she had been at the bar, met a peculiar guy, took him back to her apartment, and had about the best sex of her life. She asked the nurse how long she’d been out.

Well, she did in Bengali, at least. The nurse, whose nametag showed her to be “Beth”, gave a confused look.

“I don’t speak Hindi, sweetie.” She explained kindly, fixing her glasses. “Do you speak any English? Your parents did, so I sorta assumed.” Cindy blinked, rubbing her throat. Why she would be speaking Bengali was beyond her. She knew English. Hell, she knew it better than Bengali, given how she was born and raised in New Jersey, and only ever spoke Bengali in her house. Turning to the nurse, she offered an apologetic smile, rubbing her throat. “Do you need water, sweetheart?” Cindy nodded. The nurse disappeared and returned with her request. Taking the glass, Cindy gratefully chugged the water

“Your parents go on and on about how smart you are.” Nurse Beth said with a smile. “Said you graduated from Princeton and then from University of Chicago, you have three degrees, you speak your fair share of languages.” Cindy smiled, and gave a shrug. Her parents had always loved bragging about her, but given what they came from that wasn’t very shocking. West Bengal was one of the poorest states in India, and both her parents and herself had the misfortune of being on the darker side. Having a child who was able to attend and graduate from some of the most prestigious schools in the world meant a lot more to them then people knew.

“You had your fair share of visitors.” Beth gestured to the bedside table teeming with bouquets and get-well cards, half of them. The nurse gave a smirk. “That Hall guy from your office seems very intent to get a date.” Cindy wrinkled her nose. Hall was one of the firm partners, and had a reputation for favoring the pretty young girls fresh from law school or interning to get into law school. She normally didn’t cast judgement, but she also wasn’t naïve about what he wanted.

“Uh, excuse me, can I come in?” Looking to the door, Cindy’s eyes widened. The frame of the door was occupied by the very handsome man she had met. “I checked in with the front desk and everything.” Beth turned to Cindy, a big smile on her face.

“Ah, just in time. This is the gentleman who found you and brought you in. He’s been visiting as well.” The nurse made her way to the door, walking past the man and giving Cindy a thumbs up as she inspected him. “I’ll leave you two. Of course, she isn’t speaking much English, but at least she’ll understand you.” The man smiled.

“Thank you.” Turning back to Cindy, the man walked closer, sitting in a chair near the bed. “How are you feeling?” Cindy tried to formulate a response, but was unsure if she was still limited to speaking Bengali for some reason. She couldn’t think for the life of her any of the cognates between English and Bengali that might help the man understand her.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized. “But for some reason my brain will only let me speak Bengali.” The man gave a smile.

“That’s okay. My Bengali is a bit rusty, but it’s still there.” Cindy blinked. The stranger’s smile widened. “Unusual to see someone who speaks Bengali in America, isn’t it?” She gave a nod, slightly dumbfounded.

“Where’d you learn to speak Bengali?” She asked. Even most of the Asian Americans she met didn’t speak Bengali. Of course, most of them weren’t from West Bengal or Bangladesh. Most people thought everyone in the Indian subcontinent spoke Hindi, when ironically they were more likely to speak English.

“I knew some people who spoke many languages.” He explained. “They taught me some. Others I already knew.” For some reason, this sent an ominous shudder down her spine.

She inspected the man more closely. Like in the same bar where they met, the first thing she noticed about him was his hair. She knew that long hair for men was kind of a ridiculous thing for many, but she found it appealing. Of course, the rest of him was what had mattered more. High cheek bones, a strong jaw, tan skin, and defined muscles up and down his body. The softness of his hair and the angular quality of the rest of his body set a sharp contrast with each other. Oddly enough, what had entranced her the most were his eyes. They had the same contrast in sharpness and softness that the rest of his body did. They managed to be both frightening and comforting at the same time. Staring into the brown and green eyes, she finally remembered his name.

“Sam.” She said. The man smiled again.

“You might be surprised to know I speak Bengali, but we also spoke a little in that bar.” He said. “French was first, remember?” He slipped from Bengali into French. Cindy had remembered speaking French with him, as they shared their opinions on the current events of France in the bar.

“Yeah, I remember.” She blinked again, frowning. She’d responded in French. “I can speak French!” She exclaimed. Sam smirked, nodding.

“Yes, I know you can. We’ve already established that.” Cindy flushed. She didn’t mean it to sound so stupid, but she couldn’t psychologically explain why her brain was preventing her from speaking other languages. “We moved into German and how the rest of the world could take note of modern Germany’s policies to improve their own countries.” Sam continued, transitioning from French to German. That was another reason why Cindy had found him so attractive. His obvious intellect.

“And from German we moved into Spanish and discussed how the U.S could learn to expand their cultural identity to be more inclusive.” She supplied, beginning in German and slipping into Spanish. Sam smiled. Cindy became very consciously aware of what Sam was doing. Just not, of course, how he was doing it.

“And then we finished in English.” Sam answered. Cindy nodded.

“I asked if you wanted to go back to my place.” She smirked, not bothering to mention that her English speaking had returned. “But you wanted to know more about me, which is not the normal response I expected for when I ask a guy if he wants to sleep with me.” The man shrugged, looking somewhat embarrassed. She hoped he wasn’t: It was a refreshing change to meet a highly intelligent and attractive guy who wasn’t at all cocky about either quality. It was also refreshing to meet a guy in a bar who was genuinely interested in her that he would put off having sex, when she already offered it up, until he learned more about her.

She’d told Sam that both her parents had been born in West Bengal, and also had the luxury of moving to North Jersey. They were not really accepted into either the local community, as they were foreigners. Of course, they weren’t accepted into the local _Indian_ community either, due to their darker skin. Despite this, they worked hard. She’d been born three months, two days, and six hours after they both completed their citizenship applications. They’d worked hard to put her in the best private school in the region, ignoring that it was a Jesuit school and they were Hindu (as well as the fact that they also really didn’t have the money). She graduated Salutatorian and was accepted to her 2 nd choice of Princeton, where she completed the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, and went onto University of Chicago, doing a Joint Degree in with a J.D in Law and her Masters in International Relations. She was able to get a job fresh out of law school, but unfortunately she was also unable to get the job at the U.N she had applied for, so she was currently focusing on Family Law.

After that, it was still pretty much a blur, but Cindy knew that they’d somehow made it back to her apartment before she had what she would define as the time of her life. After a few repetitions (okay, more than just a few), she’d went to sleep.

And now here she was, waking up in the hospital. In the corner of her mind was a visceral fear, memories of hateful words being spoken by vicious entities occupying her brain. She’d temporarily forgotten how to speak nearly all the languages she’d acquired, until the same man she’d fallen asleep with that night had come into her hospital room and somehow helped her reacquire them. Any lawyer worth their license would have enough common sense to figure out what was going.

“You haven’t told me much about yourself, Sam.” She pointed out. The man shrugged.

“Not much to tell.” He said. Cindy gave a scoff.

“I’m sure. It’s not like a handsome guy who speaks over five languages would have any interesting things to share.” Sam betrayed no expression. Cindy sighed. “Look, maybe you could at least tell me your last name?” He didn’t respond for a minute, but he noticed the expectant look she was giving and sighed

“Winchester. Like the gun manufacturer, but no relation.” Cindy smirked.

“I doubt half the girls who drool over you know that Winchester is a gun manufacturer.” Sam shrugged, nodding.

“Fair point. Now, it’s your turn. How’d you get the nickname Cindy?” Cindy raised an eyebrow.

“What makes you assume it’s a nickname?” She asked. Sam chuckled, pointing to a clipboard on the side of her bed.

“Unless they made a mistake on your official records, I’m pretty sure your name is Siddhi.” Sam looked back up to her. She gave a shrug in response.

“Siddhi means ‘Achievement’, roughly.” She explained. “My parents were trying to manifest a bright future for me. People decided Cindy was easier to pronounce. Or maybe that’s what they heard when I told them my name. Just stuck after a while.” Sam nodded. “So, are you going to tell me how and why I woke up here or what?” The man blinked. “And please don’t insult my intelligence by saying you don’t know.”

“You catch on quickly.” This wasn’t in English, nor German or French or any of the others. It was a language that Cindy found she could understand, but she didn’t understand how she did. Sam looked around the room in general, as if avoiding eye contact would help avoid the question. “What happened was an accident. I don’t want to explain too much, at the risk of sounding crazy.” He brandished his hand, and a small laptop appeared. Cindy mastered her features, not blinking. “This will explain most it.”

The lawyer refrained from asking anything, having no doubt that a laptop conjured from thin air would probably contain all the answers she needed. Of course, she also had no doubt that she should want to find out everything about said laptop, and in particular how Sam was able to summon it forth.

“Is that it, then?” She asked, taking the laptop from the man’s outstretched hands. She was aware that she had responded in the same unknown language. “You’re leaving?” Sam shrugged.

“I don’t really have much time for hanging out. Never have.” He said apologetically. “I never really had time to settle down. And usually when I had, it didn’t end well.”

A phantom scream echoed in Cindy’s mind, sending thoughts of pain, depression, loss, and agony through her body. She looked at the man before her, who had a pained expression on his face. She’d seen numerous abuse cases before, of women and children (and men at times) who had such severely bad memories that recalling them seemed to cause physical pain. This was clearly such an instance, and Cindy decided that it was better to not ask.

“Will I see you again?” She asked. Sam gave a shrug.

“If I’m being honest, probably not.” He said. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but it is.” Cindy smiled, nodding. She looked down at the computer in her lap.

“Well, thank –” Looking back up, she saw that she was alone. Sam had literally vanished into thin air. She looked back down. “Thank you.”

* * *

 

“Find anything yet?”

“Yes, Squirrel. I’ve found pertinent information about your brother’s location but chosen not to tell you as to invoke your more pleasant personality traits.”

“Can it, Crowley.” Dean snarled in the demon’s general direction. The King of Hell rolled his eyes.

“Maybe we can save time and I can just call up some lackeys to do the reading for us.” He suggested in a bored tone, flipping another page in the journal he was reading. “Honestly, Dean, do you think your brother is stupid enough to leave a paper trail?”

“He was stupid enough to reactivate his psychic powers,” Dean said. “So yes. Keep reading.” The four of them were pouring over Sam’s journals to see if there was any hint to his plan. Well, at least three of them were. Rowena was strolling around the library, brushing her fingers against the shelves.

“For someone who’s apparently stupid, your brother was smart enough to teach himself a large arsenal of complicated spells in less than a year.” The witch said with a scoff. “Maybe he hid the truth from you because he knew the only people you trust are yourself and males you’ve known for less than a third of your life.”

Dean rolled his eyes. First Crowley, now his mother. What the fuck was with the insinuations that he trusted Sam less than he did strangers? Hadn’t he forgiven Sam more than was seemingly logical just because he trusted his brother? Hadn’t Sam broken his trust to listen to him? Hadn’t he proven enough to Sam that his instincts were reliable?

Then again, Sam had caught on before him that Dad had been hiding a lot from them. And that Gordon had been a screw loose. And that Heaven was not exactly more trustworthy than Hell. And that Cas had been conspiring with Crowley to open Purgatory. And that Bobby had been becoming a violent spirit.

Shit.

Maybe he should’ve listened to Sam. But then again, Sam also hadn’t always had the best instinct. How could he, when he thought staying at Stanford had been safe, or that Ruby and Rowena had been trustworthy?

Either way, this was just why Dean was in charge. Maybe Sam was right some of the time, but he also was wrong just as often, maybe more. And it always ended with people getting hurt. Lots of people. Hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions.

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. He looked and recognized it was one of Garth’s numbers. Answering it, he put it up to his ear.

“Hey, Garth. How’s it howling?” He heard a feminine scoff on the line.

“Funny, Dean.” He frowned.

“Kate?” He hadn’t exactly kept track of the blond werewolf, given how busy he and Sam had been since they last ran into her.

“In the flesh. Or, the fur, if you want to make another lame pun.” The hunter chuckled.

“Sorry, didn’t exactly expect you to know Garth. How are you?”

“I joined Garth and his family around three months ago. It’s easier being around other people. People who can understand what it’s like being different, and not wanting to hurt people. It’s what I wanted with Tasha, but I guess that couldn’t ...” There was an awkward silence, as Dean recalled that Kate had to kill her own sister the last time they saw each other.

“Well, that’s great, I guess.” He said lamely. “Not to be rude, Kate, but I kind of am in the middle of something right now, so I can’t exactly chit-chat.”

“Well, actually,” The werewolf sighed. “I’m calling about that.” There was a pause, as Kate seemed to struggle with finding the words. “I’m calling about Sam.” Dean shot out of his chair.

“Sam?” He asked. At the name, the other three gathered around him. “What about him?” On the other line, there was static. “Kate, what about him?”

“He showed up at the Ranch earlier today.” She explained. “He dropped in to give Garth a bunch of documents, and made him swear on his honor not to call you. But, of course, Garth being Garth, he wanted to find a loophole since you two are ‘his best buds’. So he had _me_ call you instead.”

“Is Sam still there?” Dean demanded, his mind going into a panic. _I might be able to get him back. Back to normal._

“No. Left as quickly as he had shown up.” There was another pause. “Is he okay? He seemed to be dealing with a lot.” Dean tried formulating a response.

“I don’t really know. I haven’t been with him recently. I’ve been trying to get him home. Look, we’re going to be there in a few minutes, just warn Garth.”

“A few min –?” Dean hung up, not wanting to waste any more time. The other three looked at him expectantly. “Hey, Bewitched. Could you get a lead on Sam if you cast a spell where he was recently?” She paused.

“I shan’t make promises, but if he really is oozing as much power as I think he is, he’ll be a much easier find.” Dean smirked.

“Great. Crowley,” He turned to the demon. “Can you maybe poof us there? And give us something to hold down your mom here, so she doesn’t try to hightail it?” Rowena gave a snarl, glaring at Dean. “I’m not stupid, princess.” The King of Hell snapped his fingers, binding Rowena’s hands with a bloodied piece of rope.

“I’ll need the Codex and the Book.” She said pointedly. Crowley gave a chuckle.

“No you won’t, mother. Surely a witch as smart and clever as you won’t need them to cast a single spell you’ve done dozens of times.” The witch shot a withering glare at her son. The demon smiled at his mother. With a second snap, the witch, hunter and former angel were gone.

* * *

 

_The stink of smoke and burning flesh wafted through the air, invading his nose and lungs. As a pre-med major, he had had encountered his fair share of disgusting smells. This was by far the worst._

_He had not encountered such terrible screams of agony. Putting his hands up didn’t help block it out, just like closing his eyes or blocking his nose didn’t stop the burning white fire or violent smoke from stinging his sight and scent._

_“Look at the poor mud monkey,” He heard Sam say. No, it wasn’t Sam. Sam was the one who was being tortured on a loop. This was the archangel who had nabbed his body. “He thinks he can drown out the sound of his brother’s torture.”_

_“Can’t understand why he cares.” Michael grunted, his voice a mirror to Adam’s. “Not like they ever bonded. Not like Adam actually thinks that the Winchesters are his family.”_

_“It has little to do with how he sees them, Mikey.” Lucifer said with a chuckle. “Most humans who’ve lived the life he has aren’t desensitized enough to torture to have no reaction.”_

_“Mm. The Abomination doesn’t seem desensitized.” The older Archangel observed. “But I’m surprised he still feels anything; with everything he’s been through, he should be a numb shell.” There was a particularly bright flash, and Sam’s scream this time almost too high for what he should be able to make._

_“We are causing him actual pain.” His brother pointed out. “But you have a point. His soul isn’t hardened like I thought it would be. Maybe we should harm the other.” In the shining bright light, Adam was able to make out a face. It was made of a cold blue light, with no identifiable gender or race. Six pairs of eyes remained wide, white and unblinking. It gave a cold smile, apathetic._

_“No.” A second face appeared, this one of harsh red light like fire, face fashioned in anger and rage. “Touch my vessel and you deal with me. I have a different plan, if he will go along with it.”_

_The rest was a blur. Adam was only conscious of the screams, the feeling of a warm liquid running on his hands and down his body. He dully was aware of touching parts of the body he hadn’t felt since an opportunity with a cadaver offered by a pre-med teacher: eyes, intestines, lungs, heart, tongue. He felt a clenched heat at his groin, which felt stimulating, but oddly wrong._

_“Please, Adam, don’t.”_

* * *

 

Shooting out of the bed, Adam barely had time to reach a garbage before his stomach emptied. Tears burned his eyes, and bile did the same to his throat. He finished, leaning over the trash and groaning in pain.

The memories of what he’d done to Sam in the Cage had resurfaced the first time he had fallen asleep. In hell, he’d divorced himself enough from the situation to where he wasn’t consciously aware of what he was doing. Now it was haunting Adam with frightening clarity. A dark corner of his mind reminded him that if what he had done was sickening to him, then he could barely imagine what it had done to Sam.

Adam was realizing how fucked he was. Being dead hadn’t been great, regardless of whether it was in Heaven or Hell. But being resurrected had left him without little options. He couldn’t go back to Windom, or the University of Wisconsin, since according to any records he’d been dead or missing or whatever for whoever knew how long it was. He’d have to live on the road for the rest of his life, for however long that would be. He had no one. No Mom, no Dad, no brother.

Getting up, he walked into the rundown shack’s bathroom sink to wash out his mouth. The water that poured out was the color of mud, and Adam wasn’t willing to test whether it tasted like mud as well. Just as he was about to turn off the sink and walk back to his bed, the water became clear. Adam paused for a minute, waiting to see if it would discolor again. When it stayed clear, he finally took a sip.

“Didn’t expect you to wander all the way to Flint, Adam.” Shooting up immediately, Adam turned to see Sam had literally appeared out of nowhere. His heart dropped into his stomach, and he stumbled further into the bathroom. Sam approached him slowly, his face empty of emotion.

“Sam…” Adam pleaded, heart beating faster. His half-brother’s mouth quirked upwards. “Sam, I didn’t mean to–”

“Good night, Adam.” A blinding light filled the air, accompanied by a harsh, violent ringing. Adam felt his lungs give out and blood fill his mouth, choking at his airways.

“Sam, please…” That was all he could say before the explosion.

* * *

 

_She was in hell. She knew it was hell, and she knew that she was being tortured and that she deserved it. She could do nothing but struggle against her binds and scream as the days trickled into months, which became years, then decades, then centuries, then millennia, then eons._

_She could do nothing but bleed and break as her two captors circled her. As the two eldest sons of God had her at their mercy, drilling every name they’ve ever worn into her. The scalding fire that branded her memory with endless titles: Firstborn, Righteous One, He Who is Like God, Saint, Warrior, Wrath of the Lord. Ice and misery carving imprints of others: Deceiver, Lightbringer, Fallen One, Iblis, Satan, Devil, Serpent. **Master**._

_The prison they dwelled in was not meant for her, nor was it for Michael. It was the Cage fashioned for Lucifer, by God himself, to punish the Secondborn for his pride and hatred. But the body she was dwelling in felt like a prison to her, not just from the torture but because she was acutely aware that it wasn’t hers. There was no issue with it being male (after the numerous times she’d been mutilated and opened by her torturers, it hardly mattered). But the owner of the body wasn’t her._

_The owner was a man who bore loss after endless loss, with little victory or headway. The owner had been left without a mother, and a father, and a brother, and a friend. He could open his eyes without seeing death, and he often would see it when they were closed. Those who he shared a carnal knowledge with were lucky if they weren’t dead thus far. Hell, he’d probably died just as often as his lovers had._

_He carried with him titles of his own. Abomination, Parasite, Freak, Screw-up, Failure. All names she was familiar with. But he had another name, one which stood apart from the rest._

_Sam Winchester._

* * *

Rosie had no awareness of where she was. She saw two figures standing over her. One was dressed in light clothes. The second, dressed in raggedy clothing. They seemed to be talking, and while she could hear them, she couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. The second figure turned to her.

“How are you feeling, Rosie?”

It was like a fog had been lifted from over her. Sitting up, Rosie realized she was in a hospital bed. The air was thick with the smells of antiseptic and detergent. She looked at the two figures.

“Conscious.” Sam gave a huff and the nurse smiled. “You flirting with Nurse Scott, Sam? I’m crushed.” The nurse, a thirty year-old half-Korean, half-Irish man from Pennsylvania, blinked.

“You must be feeling pretty good if you can crack jokes and read my name-tag.” Nurse Scott commented, eyebrows raised. In truth, Rosie hadn’t seen his name-tag. She only had known that, along with all of the things she knew about him, because Sam had scoured the information from his brain previously. “But I think I’ll refrain from the flirting. My wife would be crushed, too.”

“Thanks.” Sam said, smirking. Nurse Scott left, explaining that he was going to get Doctor Parker. She shuddered internally. Parker was a little confused about the whole trans thing, so she might be prone to asking a lot of inappropriate questions. Nothing Rosie couldn’t handle, anyway. Turning to the hunter, she cocked an eyebrow.

“So you’re just going to leave me a laptop and leave, then.” She said. Sam winced.

“You know.” Rosie gave a roll of her eyes.

“Of course. You know now at least that the way I reacted to your Cage memories would mean I would end up like this.” Sam smiled lightly, sitting in the chair closest to her bed and drawing it right up to the bedside.

“So, what do you know?” Despite her anger, Rosie had to smile. He was fairly cute when he had that curious look on his face.

“Most of what you know. So, a lot.” Sam seemed to be waiting for more, causing her to sigh in frustration. “I know you hunt things that most people consider to be fairy tales and stuff. You stopped the Apocalypse, undoing a million years of planning by both angels and demons, and at least a century or so of fooling hundreds of people into doing stupid shit. I remember the cage, and I know that the Archangels had screwed with the way time flowed in there so it was almost 10 billion years before you escaped. I know you’ve had to deal with a couple more world-ending events, and that this is just the current one.”

“Do you know how you know this stuff?” Sam asked, leaning forward. Rosie gave an annoyed titter.

“It’s the way the Cage memories affected me. The young gay slice of wonder bread can spot weird shit for what it is. Bollywood can speak and read the languages you know, which include basically everything that the angels knew, which is a shit ton. I just know things.” The hunter, who was slightly wide-eyed, frowned slightly.

“You know, for an activist, you can get highly politically incorrect.” Rosie called upon all her willpower to not slap him. Slapping a guy with roughly 10,000 angelic graces inside him wasn’t the smartest idea.

“You learn to get violent when angry when your existence is one big fight to survive.” Sam didn’t need her sob story, but he already knew it already. She grew up being called “Spic”, “Beaner”, “Boarder-hopper” and “Illegal”. These gradually turned into “Pansy”, “Sissy”, “Faggot” and “Maricon”. Then she was basically disowned when she realized she was trans, and even after 10 years after she came into herself, she still was basically dirt to most people. Two degrees in Society from Georgetown and participating in social activism didn’t change that her first identifier wasn’t “Activist” or “Hard-working”, but “Freak.” Sam gave a sad smile.

“Fair enough.” They sat in silence as Rosie scanned her memories, trying to see what she didn’t know already. When she finally drew a blank, she frowned.

“What are you going to do about the Darkness?” Sam paused, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t know?” When she shook her head, the hunter gave a small smile. “That’s good, at least. It’s nothing you have to worry about, Rosie.” She folded her arms in indignation.

“What, you don’t want to endanger me because I’m a woman?” Sam shook his head. “Or because I wasn’t always one?” The hunter now had a frown of his own.

“Come on, Rosie, you know it’s not like that.” He protested. She gave a sigh. Unfortunately, she did. She also knew enough of Sam’s opinions from his memories to know that he felt all people deserved equal treatment. He just unfortunately didn’t consider himself human, so his punishment was to know more and be worth less.

“You’re going to do something suicidal.” She whispered. It was enough for Sam to hear, and he offered an apologetic shrug. “You’re just going to throw yourself away?”

“It’s not my hope. But I also know that hope isn’t often worth much.” Sam said. “I’m going to try and hold the Darkness, and hope that I don’t need to give my life, as selfish as it sounds. But if I do die,” He shrugged. “I’ve outlived my expiration date, so I’m at peace with it.” Rosie really wished that Sam had already conjured up a laptop to give her, so she could’ve thrown it at his stupid face.

“Do you have any other setting besides self-destruct?” She demanded. Sam cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Rosie, you’ve known me for a total of two days. I doubt my death is going to impact you that much.”  Rosie had to resist rolling her eyes again, instead staring into Sam’s eyes.

“Maybe I’d like to know you more. Maybe Cindy and Aaron would. Maybe your brother doesn’t want to be alone in life.” The guilting of a suicidal person made her stomach turn. Nevertheless, Rosie was calling on all her experience as a hotline operator to try to talk Sam off the edge.

“If I’m still around, I’ll make an effort to know you more.” He said with a sad smile, summoning a small black laptop. Rosie began shaking her head.

“Sam, don’t you dare – ”

“Goodbye, Rosie.” Placing it on her lap, he gave a wink.

“Sam, wait – !” In a flutter of wings, Sam was gone again. Sighing, Rosie slumped in her bed. However, almost immediately afterward, a thought came to her. Looking outside, she called for a nurse. The sooner she could reach a phone, the sooner she could call someone – Jody, Garth, Tracy, Dean even.  She still had a few main phone numbers from Sam’s memories. One of those people might be able to get to Sam in ways she couldn’t.

Maybe she could help save Sam, like he had saved her.

* * *

Crowley leaned back in his chair, lazily reading an Enochian tome on demonic lore. Dean hadn’t called him since he teleported them off nearly two hours ago, so he assumed everything had been going well enough. If it wasn’t, then they were either all doomed to whatever mishaps might emerge from Sam’s plan, or would be fine if the plan went smoothly and the Darkness was eliminated.

What fun.

Meanwhile, the King of Hell had taken to entertaining himself with acquiring knowledge from the Winchesters’ collection. In this case, a book that he assumed they had no use for, unless Castiel were to read it. He was currently on a page containing a ritual that would theoretically demote any demon to a baser level. Crowley shuddered at the thought of the Winchesters using this spell against him.

So imagine his shock when he saw scribble in the corner that read ‘Ask Cas if this spell could work on Crowley, if need be.’ It was unmistakably Sam’s handwriting, even though it was in Enochian. He’d heard of humans knowing Enochian – obviously, as this book was written by humans – but he had been certain that the last known humans to learn Enochian had been murdered or had disappeared sometime in the early 50s. Moreover, he was definitely sure that he had made it his job to know everything and anything about the Winchesters, even things they wouldn’t tell each other. Things to use as leverage. Sam’s sexuality and his suicide attempts had been juicy enough to throw at Dean, but this?

“Shrewd little blighter, you are, Moose.” The demon whispered to himself.

“I bet.” A shadow appeared over him, and Crowley knew if he had a heart, it would’ve dropped.

“Sam!” He turned up to look at the hunter, giving what he felt was a winning smile. “So good to see you! What brings you here?”

“Save it, Crowley.” The hunter carried with him the Codex and the Book of the Damned. The King of Hell sighed. He knew Sam loathed him, loathed demons of all kinds after Ruby. He wasn’t prone to listen to him before incinerating him with the endless bounds of grace in him, but he had no choice.

“I can’t let you leave, Sam.” He said. “Dean needs you back.” Sam shook his head.

“Dean needs to have control over me, because as long as he has that he feels that he has control over the whole situation. You know that, Crowley.” Crowley shrugged.

“Either way, I want to help save you, Moose. You’re worth more alive than dead.” The hunter gave a huff. “I’m going to try to stop you, even though it means certain death. Please, Sam.” There was a pause, before Sam reached out his hand.

“ _Sardalkhu, Ana Sepiya Isqatu_.” With a grunt, Crowley lunged forward, falling face first in front of Sam. He growled in frustration.

“First Enochian, now Sumerian.” He looked up at the hunter. “Is there a language you _don’t_ speak?” Sam considered.

“Mayan. _Sardalkhu, Emuq zu Seheru._ ” The demon whimpered as he felt his strength start to fade. The hunter crouched, looking Crowley in the head. “Is the soul of the man you possessed still in there?” Crowley gave a snarl, trying to pull himself up. Sam made a slamming gesture and the king sunk back down, head hitting the floor. “Yes or no, Crowley.”

“Yes.” He admitted. The hunter nodded, examining his body. In a corner of his mind, Crowley was convinced Sam wouldn’t kill him. However, given what Sam was clearly capable of doing, what with an inundation of graces, this wasn’t much comfort. The hunter himself was proof that there were many things worse than death.

“Don’t worry, Crowley, you’re not on my hit list.” Sam said. “You’re the demon I hate the least.”

“Not really a comfort, Moose.” Crowley wheezed, as his lungs began to contract. The younger Winchester closer, placing a hand over his chest.

“Well, I’d tell you this won’t hurt a bit …” His hand phased through Crowley’s flesh, sending a hot burning pain through the demon’s body. “But that wouldn’t be true.”

As Sam’s arm sank up to his elbow, Crowley let out a scream. The agony was overwhelming, like a million burning-hot hooks were pulling at every inch of his body. This was the same sensation usually felt in an exorcism, only ten times worse. Sam gave a tug of his arm, and the imaginary hooks pulling at Crowley gave a sharp tug. Suddenly, his vision began to blacken. The king of demons gave a moan as his senses dulled, the pain ebbing away. He heard Sam speak two words.

“ _Usemi Baltu._ ”

Then the darkness claimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I realize this is a long update, and it's been long since I posted the last one. I just wanted this to be good. You can like or dislike it, but I think this is fairly good despite how long it took.


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